


switch it up

by frinkles



Series: freaky friday verse [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bodyswap, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Roommates, and some mark being horny, bordering on selfcest, inadvertent edging?, you know how it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:41:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 48,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24777799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frinkles/pseuds/frinkles
Summary: Mark wakes up in Johnny's body.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Series: freaky friday verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941145
Comments: 169
Kudos: 762





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> freaky handshake except there's no handshake, and also, it's porn

Mark wakes up with a shock, and it’s like he instantly knows something is not right. Something feels off, he feels weird, it’s just—there’s something definitely different from usual.

For starters, he's not in his own bedroom.

It appears to be Johnny's, from what Mark can tell. He turns his head to see Johnny’s keyboard, and that big blue art print which Johnny says are water lilies, and yeah, he’s definitely in Johnny’s bed.

Turning doesn’t feel right either, his whole body feels weird. The way his cheek hits the pillow is weird, and it’s making him dizzy. And why the _fuck_ is he in Johnny’s bed.

Slowly, carefully, he turns his whole body around, afraid of what he’s gonna see, and he relaxes instantly when he finds the other side of Johnny’s bed empty. His relief is short-lived though, as moving between the sheets makes him come to another realisation: he’s almost completely naked.

He’s almost completely naked, and the only thing he’s wearing are loose boxers, which definitely don't come from his own closet.

Mark flops to his belly, pressing his face into the pillow. He wants to scream, but manages to repress it so just a muffled whimper comes out. It sounds weird, but _everything_ is weird, and Johnny’s pillow smells like Johnny, which, _of course it would_ , and Mark just really doesn’t understand what the fuck is going on.

He takes a deep breath, turning his face away from the pillow, and another one, and tries to put the pieces together, but he’s definitely missing at least half of the puzzle, and also the lid of the box which shows him what picture he’s trying to make. He’s almost 100 percent sure he went to bed in his own bed last night, wearing an old T-shirt and his black shorts and absolutely his own briefs.

But somehow he ended up here, in Johnny’s bed. And presumably naked at one point. And he has no recollection of it whatsoever. Has he started sleepwalking? Did he undress himself and make his way over to Johnny’s room in his sleep? Did they— _did they have sex_? Is that why his body feels so weird?

Mark groans, forcing his face further down Johnny’s pillow. What the fuck is wrong with him. So many things could have happened, and the first thought in his head is fucking _sex_. He could’ve just as well gotten sick last night, and Johnny must’ve found him, and cleaned him up, and let him sleep in his own bed. And took the couch to give Mark some space. And that’s why Mark’s body feels so weird, because he’s sick. Yeah, yeah, that makes much more sense. He still probably has a bit of a fever.

He should drink some water, then, probably. His stomach feels fine, hungry even, so he’s pretty sure he can handle it, and he doesn’t want to get dehydrated. Mark pushes himself up on his elbows and back on his knees, and lifts his body all the way, the duvet falling off his shoulders.

And then he shrieks.

Because those are definitely not his thighs.

It’s just the fever, he frantically tells himself, he’s delirious and hallucinating, and this isn’t real. These thighs, thick and tan and hairier than his own, are not real. And neither are these hands that are much bigger, more angular, the fingers less stubby. No matter how real they feel, no matter how nothing is changing when he touches his legs, when he squeezes and slaps and pinches his skin.

Mark squeezes his eyes shut, and opens them again, and nothing is different. And he’s kind of starting to freak out here.

The hands really look like Johnny’s, he notices, and he hates how he’s spent so much time looking at Johnny’s hands that he can instantly recognise them. That his mind can come up with a perfect imitation of them, just like that, when he's in such a vulnerable state. Even the sunflower tattoo on his forearm appears to be exactly the same.

Okay, so he’s got Johnny’s hands right now. And also what might be Johnny’s thighs, and muscular forearms, and defined abs. The hair on his lower stomach feels a little coarse under his fingers, and so, _so_ horribly real.

Mark pushes himself out of Johnny’s bed and towards his closet, opening it to reveal the mirror inside. As he kind of expected already, his whole body is Johnny. Johnny’s face is staring back at him through the mirror, in a panicked expression Mark has never seen Johnny make before. His mouth opens and closes when Mark opens and closes his, his arms move along with Mark’s, the illusion is not budging.

“Johnny!” Mark shouts, the sound breaking when he hears Johnny’s own voice come from his throat. His eyes stay locked on the image in the mirror, watching Johnny call out his own name again.

There’s no response, their apartment remains quiet. Mark tries once more, and waits, his leg starting to go shaky.

Nothing happens, and Mark realises he will have to look for Johnny. It takes him two tries to open the door, the handle lower than he’s used to, and he’s hit by another dizzy spell in the hallway, seeing everything from a slightly different perspective disorientating him. He _really_ needs to find Johnny.

But the couch is empty, and looks unslept on. And Johnny is not in the kitchen either. The apartment is empty, and only now Mark notices how early it still is, the sunrise partially visible between the open blinds on the kitchen window.

An icy cold feeling of dread starts to spread through his veins as he turns back around to the hallway, eyeing his own bedroom door. It can’t be like that, it _wouldn’t_ be. That’s not possible.

He walks up to his bedroom door, and curls his hand around the door handle, looking down this time to make sure he gets it right. It’s still Johnny’s hand. He’s hesitant to open the door, but he really needs to see.

And as it turns out, it really is like that.

Mark quickly pulls the door shut and steps away from it, but what he saw was undeniable, the image seared into his brain. That was _himself_ , sleeping soundly in his own bed.

He turns away from the door, and laughs, because he just doesn’t know what else to do. The sound is short and incredulous, a little unfamiliar in Johnny’s voice, and everything is just so fucking weird.

This is really not possible in real life. It’s like that one movie with Lindsay Lohan that he saw as a kid, except Johnny is not his mom and they didn’t have any fortune cookies yesterday, and they’re _not in a fucking movie_.

Mark is not sure if he should try waking up his body and find out if Johnny is in it, or not, because he’s not even sure if this is actually real. Because it can’t be. It’s probably just a fever dream. Maybe he can sleep it off and wake up as normal, and it would be a funny story to tell Johnny later, and that would be all.

Since his own body is in his own bed, he heads back to Johnny’s bedroom, sitting down on the bed where the duvet is still folded back and rumpled.

He really is in Johnny’s body, still. It’s unmistakable. He’s wearing Johnny’s Tommy Hilfiger boxers, the red striped ones that he’s seen Johnny wear before, but only on his days off because he normally wears tight boxer briefs. And maybe that’s something Mark shouldn’t remember, or even notice in the first place, but. Well.

It’s not his fault Johnny is so hot. It’s not his fault Johnny turned out to be exactly his type, he didn’t know that yet when they became flatmates, too deep down in his own denial. But living together made it too hard to ignore, forced him to accept things. And made him realise that wasn’t actually all that bad.

And now he has Johnny’s whole body at his disposal. Mark kind of hates how he’s thinking of this right now, that his mind comes up with it even in this situation, but he's suddenly stupidly aware that he can see Johnny completely naked. He can stare at his body unabashedly, without having to worry about anything. He can see his dick up close.

If this is just a dream, a hyperrealistic, lucid dream, he has to make use of it, right? He hooks his thumbs in the dark blue elastic and lifts his hips, shoving the underwear down, not missing the way Johnny’s stomach flexes with that move.

He doesn’t have an image of Johnny’s dick saved in his head. He’s only seen it in passing, and never let his eyes linger, because that would be weird. That definitely felt like it would be crossing boundaries. But it’s different now, this isn’t real. Right now Mark can just stare at Johnny’s dick, soft and resting against his thigh, and there won’t be any consequences. The only consequence is that Mark might get hard, and then he’d get to see Johnny’s dick hard, too.

Oh, fuck. Mark sucks in a sharp breath at the realisation that suddenly hits him. If he touches it right now, _he_ will feel it. He’ll be touching Johnny’s dick, but jerking himself off at the same time. Mark watches as Johnny’s dick, connected to his own brain, twitches.

No, wait—what the fuck, Mark, _what the fuck_. What if this is not a dream, what if this is actually real and they actually swapped bodies. He can't just—he can't—touching Johnny's dick, touching Johnny's actual body like that, without permission—isn’t that almost like assault? He can't fucking do that, what the fuck is wrong with him. He was really about to touch Johnny's dick, and Johnny doesn't even know about anything.

He pulls the boxers back up over his hips and pulls the duvet up to cover his entire body— _Johnny's_ body—so he can't see it anymore. He should just try to sleep, and when he wakes up everything will be over.

Except he can't sleep anymore right now. He's wide awake and his head is filled with conflicting feelings and even just lying completely still in bed reminds him that he's in Johnny's body right now, the feeling so different from his own.

He doesn't even have his phone with him right now, it's on his nightstand in his own room. He has nothing here to divert his attention from it, all he can do is close his eyes and try to think distracting thoughts.

He must have actually dozed off a bit, because he wakes up again to some noises from another room, and his own voice saying " _what the fuck_ ", loud enough to be heard through the wall.

Just opening his eyes is enough for Mark to know he's still in Johnny's room, and Johnny's body. And it seems like Johnny just woke up in Mark's.

“Mark!” he hears from his own bedroom. “Mark, did you steal my body?”

Mark envies Johnny’s ability to always stay so calm and casual, his ability to laugh at situations that make Mark freeze with panic. And somehow, hearing his own voice sounding so composed, hearing Johnny just making jokes, lowers his stress levels significantly. Makes him feel like yeah, maybe Johnny is right, maybe there’s no need to act all panicky yet.

“Johnny!” he shouts back, sitting upright when he hears a door open and feet padding down the hallway.

Seeing himself appear in the door opening is, well, an experience. The weirdest fucking experience. He makes eye contact with himself, with Johnny, and Johnny looks back at his own body with Mark in it, and for a few seconds, all they can do is just stare at each other. Or, themselves.

“Wait, hold up—” another worrisome, even more frightening scenario pops up in Mark’s head, and he gets a bit jittery. “You _are_ Johnny, right?”

Mark sees his body wait a single beat, and then it says, “no, dude, I’m Mark now.”

“No—stop that! Stop that, that’s not funny. Please tell me you’re Johnny!”

“Sorry.” Mark’s body laughs, his shoulders rising the way Johnny’s always do. “You don’t have to make such weird faces with my face! Don’t worry, I’m Johnny,” he says, and Mark sees his smile slowly start to fade. Johnny sinks down on the foot end of his own bed. “Fuck, Mark. What the fuck happened to us?”

Mark really wouldn't know how to answer that question.

“So.” Johnny is sitting on one end of the couch, his own iphone ready in his hands, resting on his drawn up knees. Mark is sitting on the other end, unable to find a really comfortable position now that his body is suddenly bigger, his legs not sinking in the pillows the way they did before. And the way he constantly feels like he has to adjust his underwear is not helping. Johnny doesn’t seem to experience similar problems, looking comfortable in Mark’s body as he types away on his phone. “Let’s see what Google can tell us.”

Mark tries looking at him while he waits for Johnny to find something, but it's so weird to be seeing himself like this. Like he's looking at a mirror but not quite, and it feels weirdly narcissistic to be staring at himself. He never liked looking at himself that much anyway, and now that he's got this pseudo-objective, outsiders' point of view, he automatically starts looking for flaws.

Johnny is still wearing Mark's pyjamas, and Mark's sleep shirt is really way too small. He thought it wasn't that bad, but now he can tell that it's tight in all the wrong places, and it's riding up his back, and it just looks horrible. And Mark has been walking around like that. Well, sleeping, mostly, but he walked around Johnny like that, completely unaware that he was looking like a clown. Fuck.

“Oh, I might’ve got something!” Johnny says, and Mark turns hopeful. He wants to change back as soon as possible, preferably before he starts noticing even more things about himself that he didn’t really want to know. "So, it would either have to be caused by magic—"

Okay, maybe it was too soon to get hopeful. Mark tries to scoff, and it turns into a disappointed whine. " _Magic_. Magic's not real..."

“—or our consciousness might have been digitised? And transferred from one body to the other?”

That's even worse. "We're not, like, _robots_! How would that even work!"

"Well, you tell me. I don't know how any of this would work," Johnny says, and he's right, of course. There's no way to make sense of any of this. Magic probably is the most plausible explanation.

"Does it say how to undo it?" As long as there's a solution, Mark doesn't care what caused this.

"Yeah, hang on, I was just looking…" Johnny scrolls through his phone. "Uh… there's... nothing. Nothing on how to reverse it. Wait, let me—let me just search for something different."

Johnny mumbles along with the words he's typing, making Mark's lips pout a bit, and it's really weird to see. Mark looks down instead, still shifting around on the couch.

Looking down is not any better. Johnny had told him to just pick whatever looked comfortable to get dressed in, and Mark didn't really want to think about it too much. He grabbed Johnny's grey sweatpants because they were on top of the stack, and they _are_ comfortable, but he's still very much regretting it right now. The thin material stretches over Johnny’s thick thighs, and hides absolutely nothing. He can see the exact outline of his phone in the pocket, he can see—

Mark forces himself to look at the ground, his hands curling into fists. It's kind of funny how, out of all the seven billion bodies Mark could've swapped with, it had to be Johnny. Kind of mean. Johnny, the subject of his late night guilty fantasies, and some embarrassing wet dreams. Is this God's plan for him? Is it supposed to be some kind of test?

If it's a test, he probably already failed it this morning, when he was still in bed.

He hears his own voice sigh, and looks up at Johnny again. "I can't find anything on how to reverse it," Johnny says. "I'm only getting results on how to _make_ your body swap."

"You mean people actually _want_ this?"

Johnny is quick to whip Mark’s head around. "Hey, what's wrong with being in my body?”

"No, nothing! I mean, no, actually, a lot? Like, _I_ shouldn't be in it! There's nothing wrong with your body—” absolutely nothing, which is part of why it’s a problem “—but I just—I just want to be in my own…"

"Chill, bro, I'm just joking." Johnny laughs. "I get it, I would prefer to get my own body back too.”

Mark leans down on the armrest, trying to relate to Johnny’s calm mindset. It’s only Saturday morning, he tells himself, they still have the whole weekend to fix this. It will work out. He fishes his phone from Johnny’s pant pocket, deciding that he should probably look for an answer too.

It’s hard to find anything useful, though. No matter what he searches for, he gets similar results as Johnny. Except for one scary reddit thread, advising him to just imagine he is Johnny and start living as him, to eliminate the problem. He quickly exits that tab and pretends he didn’t see it.

“Ugh, now I’m only getting ebooks about milk?” Johnny drops his phone next to him and puts his legs down, stretching Mark's full body with a groan and making his shirt ride up over his stomach now too. “Let’s just get breakfast first. I need some coffee.”

“Oh, _yeah_.” Mark didn't notice because he had been kind of distracted, but he's actually still pretty hungry. “And, um. Another thing—” he’s kind of reluctant to continue, but he needs to. This is a thing that will have to happen too. His own expectant face looking at him unnerves him, and he stares at Johnny’s spiky succulent on the windowsill instead. “I have to. Like. I have to piss.”

He glances at Johnny, who looks like he doesn’t understand what Mark is getting at. “So? Go then?”

“No, like. I have to. I’m gonna have to touch your dick.”

Johnny laughs, the sound kind of weird and low and unfamiliar in Mark’s voice. “That’s fine.”

“You’re—you’re fine with that? You don’t care?”

“I mean, you have to, right? I touched yours too,” Johnny says, entirely casual, and Mark freezes, eyes widening.

“What! When?” he splutters. Johnny touched his _dick_.

“When you were getting dressed. Your body has to piss, too!” Mark hears his own voice laugh at him again but how weird that is doesn’t even bother him right now. _Johnny touched his dick_. Johnny looks straight at him, grinning as he continues. “Held it in my hand, looked at it. Felt how it felt.”

“Dude, no, stop that! Stop making it weird!” Mark shouts, when he really means, stop making me turned on. He tries to find something else to look at again, his brain suddenly overflowing with half formed images of Johnny touching his dick.

“Just go,” Johnny says, still laughing. “You can do it! I believe in you!”

And Mark still can’t do it, touching Johnny’s dick, even now that he has permission, but he ends up sitting down to pee because he remembers that’s fucking possible too.

When he gets back, Johnny is at the kitchen counter, filling his French press with ground coffee. Mark focuses on it, trying to get his mind off other things, thinking of how funny it is to see himself suddenly so good at making coffee. “Can you make me some too?”

“Yeah, sure!” Johnny says, adding another scoop of coffee and checking the writing on the beaker. Which reminds Mark.

“You can only drink two cups of coffee, though. In the whole day. After that I get a headache. I mean, you. You will.”

“Oh, damn… Well, that sucks,” Johnny says, slowly dumping the scoop he was about to add back in the canister. “No, actually, that’s fine. I can do that. Dude, I’m gonna take such good care of your body. I’m gonna eat so healthy.”

It sounds vaguely like a diss and Mark squints at Johnny, who’s turned to grab his box with oats. Whatever, if Johnny wants to go through all the effort it takes to make porridge (real porridge, not even the instant kind) with fresh fruit and whatever other healthy things he adds to it and feed it to Mark’s body, that’s perfectly fine. Mark is just going to eat his normal breakfast though.

He feels awfully stared at, however, when he’s filling a bowl with cornflakes, the feeling only intensifying when he grabs the milk from the fridge. He looks to his side and yeah, there is his own face looking back at him. 

“Dude,” Johnny starts, looking at the carton of milk in Mark’s hand, and back at Mark’s face. “Can you at least, like, use yogurt? And mix it with my protein powder maybe?”

Mark looks down at the carton, and the stylised picture of grazing cows on it. He doesn’t understand what’s wrong with it. “I’m not, like, lactose intolerant?”

“No, I mean—wait… that's not even...” Johnny frowns, and Mark is getting even more confused now.

“I just can’t eat yogurt?” he offers.

“No, but, you’re in _my_ body now.”

“But I’m still myself, though? I just don’t like yogurt.” Mark is pretty sure he still doesn’t want to eat nasty, thick, sour milk.

“Yeah, well. _My_ tongue is different,” Johnny says, and Mark should probably say something back to him, but he's suddenly very distracted because he _does_ have Johnny's tongue in his mouth. He’s all at once hyper-aware of it, of the way he can feel it resting inside his mouth, the way it’s touching the sides of his molars.

Mark just stands there at the counter, staring at nothing, pressing Johnny’s tongue against his palate. Well, Johnny’s palate, but it feels like his own. It feels like his own, but at the same time it’s _Johnny’s_ , this is what _Johnny’s mouth feels like_. He runs his tongue over the ridge on the roof of his mouth, over the back of his teeth, and it should be weird, probably, but instead it’s really turning him on.

This is Bad, Mark realises. He can literally feel his blood moving, going places where it really shouldn’t be going right now, his legs getting a bit wobbly. He really needs to stop, but there’s just no way he can escape this feeling right now.

Hearing himself chuckle shakes him out of it. “Are you okay?” Johnny says, still laughing. “It's fine, you don’t _need_ to use yogurt. If you can just use my protein powder though, it’s like, apple crumble flavour, it’s really good, I promise.”

Mark looks at the plastic container Johnny sets down in front of him, and tries to remember his words. “Um, yeah. Yeah, sure, I can do that.”

“You know what, I’ll do it.” Johnny grabs the container back, and also the milk carton Mark didn’t even realise he was still holding. “My body takes some effort, ya know? It’d be a shame to let that go to waste now, right?”

“Yeah, totally. I understand.” Mark nods. He understands very well, as his eyes have been greatly enjoying the fruits of Johnny’s labour. And now he’s _in_ Johnny’s body. Jesus fucking Christ. He doesn’t know how long this whole situation is going to last, but there’s no way he’s gonna make it through.

He makes his way over to the kitchen table, letting Johnny do his thing, and remembers how uncomfortably free his balls feel in Johnny’s loose boxers. Mark shudders a little when he sits down, and wait, that’s right, these are _Johnny’s_ balls, and Jesus _Christ_ , this is really not the right moment to be thinking about Johnny’s balls.

At least he’s got a table to cover his lap now. Mark takes a deep breath, and wills Johnny’s body to calm down.

“Dude, are you sure you’re alright?” Johnny asks when he sets Mark’s bowl of cornflakes on the table. “You look a little... out of it?” 

It sounds a bit weird, and Mark freezes. Johnny’s got to be familiar with his own body, maybe he can tell straight away by just looking at himself that Mark is sitting here, being all messed up and thinking all kinds of weird things. “Mark?” Johnny repeats, and when Mark looks up at him he’s surprised but also relieved to see his own face looking genuinely worried.

“Yea—” Johnny’s voice comes out really weird, and Mark swallows. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just, you know, given the circumstances…”

He gestures a bit between them, and relaxes further when Johnny laughs. “Yeah, I feel you. Let me just finish making my food, and then we can figure out what to do.”

Johnny’s protein powder actually tastes pretty good. Not really like actual, fresh out of the oven apple crumble, but good enough for Mark to consider adding it to his cereal every day.

“Right?” Johnny says from across the table, grinning back at him with Mark’s face. “I told you it was good.” He takes a sip from his own mug, the black one that he said was specifically designed to drink coffee out of, and makes Mark laugh with an exaggerated groan. “Wow, I really needed that. Anyway, let’s do some more research.”

This time they try to figure out a possible cause, and it turns out there’s a lot more information about that, even though all of it is from movies and books and other stuff and not so much real life. And it still doesn't really help much either. They establish that neither of them did anything weird yesterday, no weird ancient artefacts were found, no odd trinkets from thrift stores, no meetings with mysterious strangers sharing cryptic messages. No wishes upon light pollution seen from bedroom windows, and Mark is pretty sure they can rule out extraterrestrial activity too.

Johnny asks Mark what he did before sleeping, " _in detail_ ", after Mark tells him he just went to sleep, and Mark needs to go through the embarrassment that is telling Johnny he had a hard time falling asleep and was about to jerk off, until he heard Johnny get up and use the bathroom and couldn't really continue anymore.

Johnny jokes and says that maybe Mark's dick is like that magical lamp, and rubbing it makes it do weird things (" _activates_ it," he says, "you know, makes the _magic_ happen", and Mark laughs extra hard to distract from the fact that maybe this is turning him on too). That still wouldn't explain why they ended up like this though, and anyway, all Mark did was some touching over his underwear, he didn't even get any further. But he doesn't think it's necessary to tell Johnny all of that.

Breakfast turns into brunch, and Mark is on his third sandwich (Johnny’s body is surprisingly hungry) when Johnny sits up and exclaims a soft _oh_. "I was gonna get dinner with Jaehyun and Ten tonight.”

Mark looks at his own body across the table, and yeah, unless they manage to change back before then, that’s not gonna work. “Oh, damn… Guess you'll have to cancel that.”

“Yeah…” Johnny makes a face, and Mark can’t exactly tell what kind of face because he’s still not really used to it. He doesn’t think Johnny’s expressions translate well to his features. “Or I could tell them I can't go and you'll go in my place?”

“Oh, yo, I could do that!” He got lunch with Jaehyun earlier this week since the cafés are finally open again, but it’s been a really long time since he last saw Ten. And even though Ten often makes him feel a little nervous, especially when Johnny is around too, Mark would almost say he’s kind of missing him.

No, Mark," Johnny says. “ _I'll_ be going, but in your body. So they'll just _think_ it's you,” and even though Mark’s looking right at himself, it takes Johnny to start laughing before he realises Johnny is right, and Mark ends up laughing too. “Unless you wanna tell them the truth?”

Mark quickly considers it, but there’s no way anyone would believe them. “They're just gonna think you're messing with them, though.”

Johnny snorts. “They'll think _you're_ messing with them. ‘Cause it’s your body, remember.”

“Oh my god, wait, _what_.” Mark grabs his head, unable to stop laughing now even when he knows somewhere in the back of his head that it’s some kind of defense mechanism. “Dude, this is so confusing.”

“I know!” Mark sees his own shoulders rise as Johnny gasps for breath between laughing, and it’s so undeniably Johnny. He thinks maybe their friends might believe them after all. “Let's—let’s both just stay home until this is over?”

Mark agrees, wholeheartedly. He still has some hope that this will all be over by tomorrow, and enduring it for a day is probably better than telling others and having to deal with whatever new problems that might create.

Laughing is not really enough to keep him distracted for too long. Mark slumps down in his seat when the worry seeping back into his mind starts to become too much to ignore. “What if we don't change back before Monday?” _He_ just has a few online lectures to attend, but Johnny actually needs to go to _work_.

“I guess I’ll just have to call in sick,” Johnny says with a shrug.

"But you—you can't call in sick _forever_." And neither can Mark. He'll miss so many credits.

But if they never change back, it won't even be his credits anymore.

His whole life won't be his anymore.

"I'm sure it won't last forever. I'm sure we'll change back," Johnny says, but it doesn't sound as convincing as before. He stays quiet after that, looking down at his empty plate. Mark doesn't really know what to say either.

Maybe, just maybe, it really is a dream. A horribly long and realistic nightmare, and he’s going to wake up from it drenched in sweat and feeling sick, but safely in his own body. Maybe. Hopefully.

“Well.” Johnny sits up straight in his chair. Mark can tell he’s trying to change the mood. “I think I’ll go play some Overwatch. See if your fingers are any faster than mine.” He makes a typing motion with his hands and grins, and Mark doesn’t need to be familiar with the way Johnny emotes using his face, to be able to tell it’s a forced smile.

He goes along with it, though. “Yeah,” he chuckles, “they might be. Who knows, maybe my body is actually really good at gaming. Anyway, I’ve got some stuff to do, too. I have an essay to turn in tomorrow...”

“Ah…” Johnny grimaces. “Better work on that, then. Well… I’ll be in my room.” He gets up and stretches his arms above his head, and Mark gets another sight of his own bare belly. He cringes.

“Can you first, like, change, though? You’re still wearing my pyjamas.”

“Oh, yeah, your crop top.” Johnny starts laughing and brings his hand down to the exposed strip of Mark’s skin, rubbing over his stomach and that’s something Mark would’ve never done if it was _him_ in his own body, but also, Johnny is like, _feeling him up_ right now. He’s got his hand all over Mark’s abs and Mark can’t help but wonder what that feels like for Johnny. If it feels even the slightest bit similar to how Johnny’s body makes Mark feel.

It probably doesn’t. It must be quite a downgrade for Johnny, suddenly being stuck in a body that’s so much smaller and less impressive than his own.

“It’s pretty sexy,” Johnny says, grinning, and for a second Mark thinks Johnny’s reading his mind. He clams up, his whole body growing hot. Then Johnny poses, jutting Mark’s hip out and placing a hand on Mark’s waist, and Mark remembers what they were talking about.

“Dude, stop that! Stop making fun of me, they’re just pyjamas!”

“I’m not! I think you look good in it.”

“Don’t lie to me! Come on, put on some normal clothes, this is embarrassing.” Mark can’t believe he genuinely thought for a moment that Johnny could be calling his body sexy. Of course Johnny was just messing with him.

“I wasn’t lying, but okay,” Johnny says, turning towards the hallway. Mark can hear the pout in his voice, the way he always does when Mark doesn’t believe Johnny’s lies. “Whatever. I’ll go see if I’ve got something that fits you.”

“I’m sure you do,” Mark says, and he gets up too. 

And then bangs his thighs on the table that’s much lower than he remembers.

“Geez, careful with my body please!” Johnny reappears around the corner, furrowing Mark’s brow. Mark is about to defend himself because that clearly was an accident, but then he notices Johnny starts to smile.

“Sorry, dude, I’m just—not really used to it yet.” Mark chuckles a bit awkwardly, partially because his legs kind of hurt.

“No worries.” Johnny straightens his face again. “But I’m serious though. Don’t do anything weird with my body!”

“I wasn’t going to!” Mark tells him, but Johnny has already turned around again. Mark is left standing in the kitchen, rubbing his sore muscles and tries his hardest not to cup a feel. Johnny’s hands are bigger than his, and yet they barely span his thighs, and Mark’s goddamn horny brain just won’t stop.

He really really hopes this whole thing won’t last much longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i lied no porn yet in this chapter
> 
> part two will be up soon!  
>    
>   
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/frxdmr)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello and welcome to: more horny

They don’t magically switch back that afternoon.

Mark spends about 20 minutes trying to adjust his desk chair, and the position of his laptop lid, and the way he has to rest Johnny’s arms on the desk to get it to feel the most familiar. When he gets it right, though, and when he keeps his eyes trained on the letters on his screen, he manages to get some work done.

It’s not like he has much left to do anyway, he doesn’t procrastinate his work like Johnny does. The only reason he waits until the last minute to submit it, is so he can still revise it and fix any mistakes he might have missed. He reads through his entire essay, checks his citations and makes sure everything is formatted correctly, and then stares at his screen for a bit.

Johnny’s gaming sounds usually don’t bother him, they’re good white noise actually, but today Mark finds himself constantly aware of it. He can’t help but wonder if this is Johnny’s way of avoiding their problem, albeit temporarily. Hopefully temporarily, at least. It’s not a very reassuring thought, but there’s no way Johnny can actually be as worry-free as he appears. Johnny told him that maybe they should just wait it out, but neither of them know how or when they’re going to change back. Neither of them know whether they’ll change back _at all_.

Mark shakes his head, trying to empty his mind. If he’s going down this road right now, it’s going to be really hard to get back, especially on his own. But he doesn’t really want to disturb Johnny right now either, he wants to give Johnny a break too, give him some space. Johnny never mentions it, but it has got to be exhausting to have to deal with Mark all the time. Or at least annoying.

He leans back in his chair with a sigh, and tilts his head back. Johnny’s neck makes a crunchy noise when he does it. Mark can feel that he’s been making Johnny’s body all tense, shoulders and neck and forehead tight and painful, and he sighs again. 

It always happens in his own body too, and he knows by now which pressure points to massage, how to pull his eyebrows back and stretch his skin in a way that makes the tight feeling loosen up. On Johnny’s body it’s obviously different. He needs three tries to find the right spot on his temples, and he really can’t get the muscles around Johnny’s ears to work the way he wants them to.

He ends up reverting to simply massaging Johnny’s head and running his hands through his hair. It actually feels really good, and Johnny’s hair also feels really good to touch. It’s pretty long, and really soft, and the way it slips through his fingers just feels really damn good. Normally, Mark can only look at Johnny pushing his own hair back, watching the way it fans out over his forehead and wishing he could try it too, but he always gets too embarrassed to do more than just an awkward pat on Johnny’s head.

Because it would be kind of weird, probably, suddenly touching someone else’s hair like that. This is a better option. Mark continues running his fingers over Johnny’s scalp, feeling how good it feels to scratch it with slightly longer nails. It’s really so relaxing. Or maybe Johnny’s scalp is just that sensitive.

Okay, no. Mark stands up and drops his hands resolutely. There’s really no need to think about what parts of Johnny’s body might be sensitive. Mark shakes his whole body now, trying to get rid of the feeling. Well, Johnny’s body, but it might work in the same way. It’s still Mark’s mind.

Maybe he just needs something to keep his hands busy. Mark’s eyes naturally fall on his guitar, in its stand next to his desk. That should probably work. He needs to practice anyway.

It’s interesting, how things work. Mark doesn’t really know much about muscle memory or spatial awareness or how nerve endings are connected to the brain, but it’s interesting how it’s so noticeable that he’s inhabiting a different body, and yet it barely affects his playing. The guitar feels different in his hands, it fits differently against his body and it feels, unsurprisingly, lighter, but grabbing the chords is the same as before. His fingertips find the right places on the frets automatically, the sound he produces is the same.

Singing along does not really work, he quickly finds out, but as long as he’s just playing, it’s easy to get lost in it, to just practice as he normally does, and for a while, everything feels like an ordinary Saturday afternoon.

Unfortunately, reality remains inescapable. 

Maybe Mark still has some kind of bond with his own body, maybe a part of his consciousness lingers in it. That would explain why, even though he wasn’t listening anymore, he still notices the exact moment Johnny stops gaming. Mark hears him walk around a bit in his room, then step into the hallway, and then stop right in front of Mark’s door.

“Mark!” Johnny calls him. “I’m gonna order some food, what do you want?”

Once again Mark didn't realise how hungry he is. And thirsty, too. And there are string shaped dents in the pads of Johnny's fingers now. Keeping himself distracted must’ve worked pretty well. He lays his guitar down on the bed and sits upright. “Um, well… What do you want?”

“No, I’m asking _you_.”

“I mean like, what do you want your body to have?” It’s not like Johnny is a picky eater, but he’s become more particular with his diet, making sure he hits his macros, or stuff like that. And Johnny was right, Mark wouldn’t want to let all of Johnny's hard work go to waste. He needs to be a responsible occupant.

“Oh, it’s fine. I’m thinking of just getting chicken or something,” Johnny says. “I think we still have some coupons.”

That sounds pretty good, Mark loves chicken. He puts his guitar back and heads over to Johnny so they can take a look at the menu together, but the moment he opens the door, his own face starts laughing at him.

“Why did you do my hair like that!” Johnny says between chuckles, and Mark’s hands immediately fly up to his head.

“Like what!” He pretends to be indignant, but he can feel Johnny’s hair is definitely different from earlier. Using Johnny’s palms, he tries to pat it down.

“You made it so greasy!”

"It's— _I_ didn't do that, it's _your_ hair dude! I can't help that!” He probably could, but in his defense, he didn't know Johnny's hair would get greasy so easily. His own always feels kinda dry and rough.

“Oh, yeah, wait, I wanted you to look at this!” Johnny switches topics just like that, without even reacting to Mark. He bounces on the balls of his feet once, and looks at Mark.

“Uh, I am looking.” All Mark sees is just his own body standing in front of him, his hands held a bit in front of him and his own face staring at him expectantly. “What am I supposed to be seeing?”

Johnny whines a little and Mark really doesn’t think Johnny should be doing that with Mark’s body because it’s _weird_. “Look at how fucking cute you look in my clothes!”

He holds out his arms and Mark sees how the sleeves of Johnny’s oversized sweater completely cover his hands. The sweater was already big on Johnny, so of course this would happen, Johnny already knew that when he put it on. Mark doesn’t really understand why Johnny feels the need to show him. Is he taunting him?

“Don’t frown like that! Come on, look at you!” Johnny makes another cute expression and brings Mark’s covered hand up to his face, and it’s really, really not right.

Mark shudders. “Oh my fucking god, don’t do that cutesy stuff with my face. That really doesn’t look good…” Mark might accidentally be doing weird things with Johnny’s face, but Johnny is definitely doing it on purpose right now. “Reserve that for your own face, please.”

“Your face is plenty cute too, though? When I looked in the mirror, it was cute,” Johnny huffs, still with that pouty tone that doesn't suit Mark's voice at all. Mark is not about to believe him, because Johnny is still messing with him, but—did Johnny just say he looked in the mirror to see Mark’s face? Of course, he would probably have to look in the mirror at _some_ point, but he made it sound like he did it specifically to see Mark.

What the fuck. Mark looks at Johnny, who throws him a smile that’s, like, _coquettish_ , before turning around and walking to the kitchen, leaving Mark’s mind reeling. It is _so_ weird to see his own face do that to him, and Mark really doesn’t know how to deal with it. Johnny might always be saying or doing weird shit just to embarrass him, but it works every single time.

After they’ve made their choice and Johnny has ordered on his phone, Johnny steps back to look at Mark. His eyes travel down and back up and it makes Mark feel so self-conscious, even though Johnny is really just looking at himself. 

He glances back at Johnny, trying to prepare for what he’s going to say, because Mark can just tell Johnny is, once again, going to say something he won’t like.

And he was right.

“Mark,” Johnny starts, contemplative, like he hasn’t already made up his mind. “Why don’t you take a shower while we wait? I would definitely like my body to be showered every day.”

Well. Fuck. The possibility he would have to do that absolutely crossed Mark’s mind already, but he has not prepared for it yet, _at all_ , preferring to avoid the thought of it. “ _Dude_ —” Mark flounders, trying to come up with something that would not make it weird. “Why—why are you saying that like I don’t shower!” He was definitely going to evade showering as much as he could, but that’s only because of this current situation. It’s beyond his control. 

Johnny raises Mark’s eyebrows, holding back a smile. “Well, do you?”

“I do! I do shower every day, dude, oh my god! But, like, sometimes you just—I don’t know, you just don’t always _need_ to shower? Like, we didn’t even do anything today!”

“So you _don’t_ shower every day! That’s gross, Mark!” The way he says it, combined with the way it’s Mark’s own voice, his own body who’s saying it, makes it kinda funny. Much funnier than it should be, really, actually it’s not that funny at all, but Mark can’t help laughing. He can't control it when he's nervous, with the way Johnny always puts him on the spot. “And I can smell my stress sweat on you.”

Out of habit, Mark smells his armpit, and that was a very bad idea. It might be Johnny’s stress sweat, but it’s still so overwhelmingly Johnny and Mark _likes_ it and maybe taking a shower is not even such a bad idea because this might create worse problems.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry.” Mark chuckles awkwardly. “I—I’ll shower.” He is aware of what showering will entail, but he also can’t exactly say no. It’s not his own body, it’s Johnny’s and he needs to take good care of it. “Um—” He forces down the giggle bubbling up from his throat. “It’s kinda weird, though…”

“I mean, I could also do it _for_ you, but that would be even weirder.”

"You—you mean, like, you helping me shower?" Mark knows exactly what’s gonna happen if they do that. He's gonna have a boner probably the entire time, and Johnny's gonna see. And what would happen after that Mark doesn't know, but he doesn't really want to think about it either. "Yeah, no, that's—I can do it myself.”

“I'll trust you on that, then,” Johnny says slowly, making it sound like he doesn't think Mark knows how to shower. Which is bullshit, of course Mark knows how to shower, what the fuck. It's just going to be a little difficult right now.

Mark is already in the bathroom when he realises he’s gonna need a change of clothes, and his own probably won’t do. He takes a brief moment to imagine what it would look like if Johnny wore his clothes, so small and tight on his body. Mark probably has some sweaters or big T-shirts that would fit, but anything else would _not_ be a good idea.

Johnny gets him some pyjama pants and another hoodie, and, on Mark’s request, some tight boxer briefs (“I don’t have any tighty-whiteys, this is the best I can do,” he said, and it sounded like he was making fun of Mark again, but Mark just takes it, because he can't go and explain to Johnny why he needs tight underwear on Johnny's body. If he feels Johnny's balls on the inside of his thighs once more he’s gonna lose it) and with Johnny’s clothes under his arm, Mark heads back to the bathroom.

He’s already decided he’s going to stay naked as briefly as possible, obviously, so he’s not going to undress until the very moment he’s ready to step in the shower. The fresh clothes get a nice spot on the radiator. Then, Mark turns to the mirror.

Maybe it would be okay to indulge himself for a little while. The mirror is literally right there, what else is he gonna do. He can’t really _not_ look.

It’s not like he isn’t constantly reminded of it, but staring at his reflection makes it extra apparent that he’s controlling Johnny’s body. He looks at Johnny’s face, slowly turning it to see it from different angles in the light that falls through the bathroom window. The muted daylight is usually very flattering, but on Johnny it’s especially beautiful, falling over the curve of his cheek, the angles of his jaw, and highlighting the colour of his eyes. 

Mark leans forward to take a better look, because this is not weird, this is just a face. He could do this if they were in their own bodies too. Or, like, he _could_ do it, if it wouldn’t make him embarrassed and self-conscious to the point of feeling like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin, and if Johnny wouldn’t tease him about it and make everything even worse.

So Mark might just as well take this chance.

The Johnny in the mirror follows his every movement, staring back intensely, smiling or frowning or squinting whenever Mark does, just to see what it’s like. His hair still feels smooth when Mark runs his hands through it. Mark pushes it all back, away from his forehead in a style that Johnny only occasionally tries. And that’s a good thing for Mark, because God, it makes him look so fucking hot.

It transforms Johnny’s entire image into something Mark can't look at for too long without feeling like he's going to combust. Especially if Johnny wears his nice clothes with it, and his expensive cologne, and he just _knows_ he looks hot. And makes sure Mark knows too.

Mark feels a shiver run up his spine while staring into the mirror, and knows that's enough admiring for now. He should probably start with actually washing up.

Shaving is the first thing he starts with, because it seems like the easiest and most straightforward thing for now. Johnny shaves every day, so Mark feels like he has to keep that up. And he uses the same electric shaver as Johnny because Johnny was the one who recommended it to him, so it shouldn’t be all that hard.

He needs to lean in close to the mirror again to see what he’s doing, exceedingly careful with this face that isn’t his, but at least now he can stay focused and busy and doesn’t get distracted again. When he’s done, he decides to do an extra good job, and also cleans Johnny’s shaver before putting it back.

Maybe he should not have shaved. Mark absentmindedly touches the faint stubble left on Johnny’s chin, invisible in the mirror but still there under his fingertips. This could’ve been his chance to see what Johnny would look like with facial hair. Mark thinks it would suit him, much better than it suits himself. If Mark doesn’t shave, he just looks like a kid who didn’t shave, but Johnny looks so much more like a man.

It’s not like he thinks about it on purpose, it really just pops up in his head, but Mark starts to wonder if Johnny shaves anything else. Not his legs, not his armpits, Mark already knows that. Not his treasure trail. Mark looks down the front of Johnny’s sweatpants. When he saw earlier, it looked trimmed, but the state of Johnny’s pubic hair wasn’t really what he was paying attention to.

Well, too bad for Johnny, but that is not something he can keep up. He can’t even look at Johnny’s private parts, not anymore, and he’s definitely not gonna do it blind. He's never even done anything like that to himself, either.

If he knew they were gonna switch bodies, he would've cleaned up a bit. He wonders if Johnny has noticed it, if he's taken a look at Mark's body hair, at his pubes.

Fuck, Johnny can look at Mark’s entire body now, he can look at _everything_ the way Mark can with Johnny’s. Mark can’t control anything at all, Johnny can just do whatever he’d want. If he’d even want that. Maybe he’d really rather not look at Mark naked. It must be really weird.

At least it’s just themselves—or, each other. Mark can’t imagine what it would’ve been like if he had switched with a complete stranger. If he’d suddenly been forced to lead a stranger’s life, with absolutely no context whatsoever. At least now—at least now, they have each other.

Mark came here to shower, though, he tells himself. He shakes his head again, trying to get it back on track. He came here to shower, and nothing else.

He looks at the stuff Johnny has set across the countertop, trying to decide what the best next step would be. Johnny has lotions and face creams and stuff, but it would be pretty pointless to use now, when he’s still going to step under the water, Mark thinks. He'll have to ask Johnny later, he wants to do this right. 

Mark turns around and turns on the shower, and then finally pulls Johnny's sweatshirt over his head. He leaves it in the hamper even though it could easily be worn for another day, and then finds himself turning back to the mirror.

It's not like he thinks his own body is bad, per se. He’s not as scrawny anymore as he used to be. He even joins Johnny to the gym sometimes, but it’s really hard to work out while you’re trying to conceal a boner. Still, he’s filled out a bit over the past few years, and in the light from the bathroom window his muscles have some definition.

But Johnny’s body is on a whole other level.

Even without his own body next to it, it's obvious how much bigger Johnny is, taking up much more space in the mirror. Just naturally, even without all the added muscle mass he’s been gaining. Mark turns Johnny's shoulder towards the mirror and presses his arm against his body. Nowadays, it looks like Johnny's arms are at least twice the size of his own. And it’s doing things to Mark.

He knows Johnny doesn’t always look like this, Mark knows he’s been cutting recently, with summer coming up and all, but that doesn’t change the fact that he looks fucking amazing. He looks like an underwear model. Like the pictures on the cardboard packaging of sets of underwear Mark’s mom would buy for him when he was younger, that he would pull free from the staples and plastic and hide in the bottom drawer of his desk so his mom wouldn’t find out. But he only saved them because he wanted to be like them, that was all.

And, well, now he _is_ like that, Mark guesses. But he knows better now.

He brings one of Johnny's hands up to the tattoo that curves over his shoulder, following it with his fingertips. Johnny let him touch it when it was still new, let him trace his fingers over the raised lines, and didn't even say anything when it made Mark blush profusely. It's completely healed now, skin smooth under his hand.

Mark loves Johnny’s tattoos. He’s told Johnny many times, but Johnny probably doesn’t know to what extent he really loves them. They’re pretty, and they’re cute, but at the same time, Johnny looks so fucking hot with them. And he said he wanted to get _even more_. He already showed Mark the design he’s planning to get next, and Mark already loves it. He hopes Johnny continues until he has a full sleeve. Mark’s mom might get a heart attack when she sees Johnny again.

Unasked, Mark's brain conjures up images of an alternate reality, one where Johnny is his boyfriend, and his parents don't know Johnny, and Mark takes him home for the first time. And how his parents would react.

Johnny would wear long sleeves to hide the tattoos, of course, but he would roll them up before helping Mark’s mom with the dishes, and his neckline would slide a bit, and they would see anyway. And his parents wouldn’t say anything at that moment, but they would save their thoughts for later. Their good, obedient, modest son…

It doesn’t really matter. That’s not something that would happen in Mark’s real life anyway. And it especially won’t now, if they don’t change back.

Mark runs his fingers along Johnny’s collarbone, and then drops his hand, before it wanders elsewhere and he ends up touching more. The mirror is already starting to fog up a bit and he needs to get undressed completely, and just get it over with. If he takes any longer, Johnny is going to get suspicious.

Shower is pure torture, with how he can feel the water running down all over Johnny's body. Mark keeps his face turned upwards, staring resolutely at the white tiles as his eyes burn with unshed tears, of frustration and of anger over the fact that he can’t fucking do this normally, that he can feel Johnny’s blood pounding in his dick once again and all because his goddamn horny brain just won’t stop.

He turns the water to icy cold which is also horrible, but he manages to get through it somehow, and finishes up feeling a lot calmer than he did before. He’s really fucking glad, though, that the mirror is still completely fogged up when he steps out, and he can’t see even the faintest shape of Johnny’s body.

To be safe, he towels himself dry turned away from the mirror, quickly and sloppily but he will get dry eventually. He’d rather deal with the slight discomfort of dry clothes on wet skin than get hard again, and having to jump back in the cold shower. Or having to walk out of the bathroom with Johnny’s hard cock obvious in his thin pyjama bottoms. He can't imagine that ending well.

The food is already delivered when he gets out of the bathroom. Or maybe he just took that long, but Johnny doesn’t instantly start making fun of him for it, so it might be okay. Mark helps him unpack it and move it to the coffee table, and once they're sitting, Johnny starts dividing the food, sliding a little styrofoam box towards Mark. “One salad for you, one salad for me—”

“Oh, sweet! I didn’t even think of that!” Mark’s mind has really been preoccupied today, but thankfully Johnny’s got his back.

“I don’t think it’s going to be _sweet_ , Mark,” Johnny says pointedly. “It’s a caesar salad,” and even though it’s a stupid joke, Mark still laughs. Jesus, Mark has been spending all his time in Johnny’s body distressed or horny and even more distressed, and Johnny is just being his usual, carefree, joking self.

“Hey, did you see my chest hair?” Johnny continues, completely casual, and Mark drops the dressing bag in his lettuce.

“What? I—I wasn't...” _Jesus_. Never mind, Mark has all the reason to be distressed. Did Johnny _want_ him to take such a close look at his body? Mark is already having such a hard time as it is, Johnny really needs to stop messing with him. “I didn't really look at it?”

“Ah, well, it’s only like a few hairs anyway. You can’t really see it yet.” Johnny grins at him. “But I really thought you would be admiring my gains.”

“Oh, _I did_ ,” Mark blurts out, followed by a panicky laughter that sounds uncomfortably high in Johnny's voice. _Fuck_. But Johnny doesn’t seem to mind, he just laughs.

“Didn't do it all for nothing, then,” he says, as if Johnny did it for _him_. Mark knows Johnny likes his own body too. The amount of selfies he takes at the gym are proof of that. He sends them to Mark as a joke, and Mark always just replies with some vague compliments, overwhelmed by the guilt he feels knowing that he’s going to jerk off to them later. But Johnny doesn’t know that.

“Flex for me.”

“What?” Mark didn’t realise Johnny was still talking.

“Flex for me. I would do it myself, but I’m in the wrong body…”

“Oh, um…” Mark flexes one of Johnny’s arms, pulling his sleeve tight so it shows better and he makes the mistake of looking at it, seeing Johnny’s muscle bulge. His arms are so fucking big. Mark has to avert his eyes and blinks a few times, hoping that Johnny didn’t notice anything.

The sudden buzzing of his phone saves him from further embarrassment, and Mark feels himself relax. He gets his phone from his pocket and peers at the screen. “Oh, it’s my mom.”

His thumb is already hovering over the little green telephone, ready to accept the call, but he remembers right in time. Johnny seems to realise at the same time too, grabbing his wrist and shouting, “dude, stop!”

Mark turns to him with wide eyes, and starts laughing. “Oh my god I almost picked up!” His phone keeps vibrating in his hand though, and he can’t pick up like this. “Wait, what am I gonna do?”

“Give it to me,” Johnny says. “Quick! I can pick up.”

“No, dude—no! You can’t do that!”

“I _can_ do it, seriously, give me your phone! Come on, hurry!”

The phone is still buzzing insistently, and Mark doesn’t really want to hang up on his mom, or make her worried by not picking up, and he can’t think when he’s under this much pressure. He blanks and puts his phone in Johnny’s outstretched hand.

Johnny fumbles a bit with its unfamiliar layout and Mark watches him anxiously, ready to grab his phone back. But then Johnny sits up straight, and answers the phone with a “hey mom!”, and Mark has to admit, that sounds exactly like himself.

He can’t hear what his mom is saying, but Johnny tells her something like, “just staying at home with Johnny,” and it definitely sounds like something he would say, this much is probably not gonna make her suspicious. Johnny makes it sound so easy, and he looks so confident, but _God_ , Mark really can’t listen to this. It’s _so_ weird, and he also doesn’t want to hear what Johnny is saying while pretending to be him, and he _really_ doesn’t want to hear Johnny mess up.

The anxiety builds up in his body until he’s squirming on the couch, nails digging into his palms, and Mark decides he really can’t listen to any more of it. He gets up and escapes to the far corner of the kitchen, pushing Johnny’s ears closed with his fingers, repeatedly pressing them until it drowns out the conversation Johnny is having with his mom and all he hears is the sound of Johnny’s ear skin.

He paces around nervously, staring outside through the gaps between the blinds. He can’t believe he let Johnny pick up, this was such a bad idea. This is his _very own mother_ , the person who probably knows him best in the entire world. She’s gonna notice something is up, and think he’s on drugs or something, or being held at gunpoint maybe, or anything else that would worry her immensely.

He’s about to turn around and hang up for Johnny, before he can do anymore damage, but Johnny is faster. Mark hears his own voice call his name over the white noise he’s creating. “Mark, you can come back!” 

Mark takes a deep, shuddery breath and hurries back to Johnny. “How did it go? What did you say?”

He sits back down on the couch with wobbly legs, and Johnny laughs. “It went fine,” he says breezily, handing the phone back to Mark. “I just called her _eomeonim_ the entire time and didn’t realise until after I hung up.” Mark feels his blood run cold, and it must show up on Johnny’s face because Johnny cracks up. “Just kidding. Everything went completely fine, I’m sure she doesn’t suspect a thing! We barely talked actually, I told her you were busy with an essay. She said you should ask me to drive you home, she wants to see you again.”

“Oh...” Mark relaxes against the backrest, laughing along with Johnny, mostly in relief. Then he suddenly realises, and bounces up again. “Oh my god, I can’t drive.”

“What?”

“I can’t drive in your body! I can’t drive!”

“ _Dude_.” Johnny folds over laughing. “We’re not going _now_! I’m not gonna let you total my car and lose my license!”

“Oh, right…” Yeah, that makes sense. Mark chuckles awkwardly. He knows it’s not that serious, but on the other hand, it kind of is, because, if they stay like this… He might have to make up some kind of reason for Johnny to take driving lessons again. And Johnny will have to take the exam again, as well, in Mark’s body. It’s going to be so expensive.

Suddenly, Johnny gasps, and he turns to Mark with wide eyes. “Maybe we _should_ act as each other!” he says, like it’s a really good idea.  
  
Mark doesn’t think it’s a very good idea. There’s no way he’s going to be able to do well. Just the thought is already making him feel anxious. “No…”  
  
“I’m serious though! Be the change you want to see, right?”  
  
“Dude, no, that’s…” Mark starts, and Johnny looks back at him, face all eager and stuff. And the more Mark thinks about it, the more it seems like it might actually make sense. “Yo… that’s actually a pretty good idea.”  
  
“Right!” Johnny says. “I mean, _yo_ , that _is_ a good idea!” He seamlessly falls back into his Mark impersonation, and obviously he has a massive advantage right now, but he does it so well nonetheless. He's already had a lot of practice in his own body.  
  
Mark thinks really hard with a way to respond, raking through his brain for a fitting Johnny reply. His hands reach for his temples in an attempt to help him think, but it doesn’t even work in this body and he just ends up giggling, stumbling over his words. “Um… uh… I—I think I need some coffee?” It sounds so extremely not like Johnny, even though it’s in Johnny’s voice, and when he looks up, they both burst out laughing.

“Is that the best you can do?” Johnny gasps. He seems to lose control over Mark’s body the same way he does with his own as he laughs, flopping forward and hitting Mark’s shoulder, and it makes Mark laugh even harder.

“That’s what you sound like though! You always say that!”

“I don’t—” Johnny stops, and continues with a higher voice. “Wow, you’re right! Johnny, you’re so cool! So smart!”  
  
“Dude you already have my voice! You don’t have to do that!” Johnny makes his voice sound absolutely ridiculous. And also, Mark never says those things out loud, he’s pretty sure. But the essence is definitely there, Mark can’t deny that.  
  
“What!” Johnny says with an even higher voice, and okay, maybe he’s actually doing a pretty good job. Mark laughs, and then triest to straighten his face again, because that’s not the way Johnny would laugh at him.  
  
“What!” He echoes his own voice in a way he’s heard Johnny do before, and he can actually feel the difference in his throat, muscles not working the way they do in his own body. The result is a weak and airy ‘ _what_ ’ that doesn’t sound like his own at all, but sounds exactly like Johnny.  
  
“Damn, nailed it,” Johnny says, snorting. “Wait, I mean—um—“ He squints at Mark, furrowing his brow and making a line appear over the bridge of Mark’s nose that Mark didn’t even know was there. “What would you say?”  
  
What _would_ he say? Mark really can’t do this kind of acting. “Dude, I don’t know,” he whines, and Johnny immediately copies him, giving rise to more of Mark’s chuckles.  
  
Johnny slides down a bit on the couch. “Your accent is hard,” he complains, and Mark doesn’t think imitating each other’s accents is the only thing that’s hard. And that sounds like a dick joke. _Great_ , now he’s thinking about Johnny’s dick again.  
  
Mark groans, and follows Johnny, dropping the weight of Johnny’s body on the backrest, trying to think different thoughts. He still doesn’t feel as comfortable as Johnny looks with his body, but that might just be Mark’s own problem. Somehow Johnny manages to make Mark’s body look more relaxed and comfortable than Mark ever feels. Hopefully this ability to really unwind can stay in his body, when they change back. Mark sighs quietly. “We’re still not changing back, though…” He wasn’t really expecting it to work, but it would have been nice.  
  
“You gotta give it time, Mark,” Johnny says sagely. “Patience is the key that solves all problems.” He leans in to give Mark a reassuring pat on his lap, and Mark can’t help but notice how small his own hand is compared to Johnny’s thigh. Fucked up how he registers that even now, how just one look at it is enough to distract him again. Johnny squeezes his thigh once before retracting his hand.  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” he continues, and Mark stares at the slight dents Johnny left in the fabric of his pyjama pants. From the corner of his eye, he can see the shape of his own body lean forward to the table. “Come on, our chicken is getting cold.”  
  
  
  
  
  
It does get less jarring, seeing himself. It’s kind of like when someone gets a new and wildly different haircut, and you need some time to get used to it, except this time the haircut is Mark’s entire body and yeah this metaphor doesn’t really work. But still, he’s getting kind of familiar with constantly seeing himself. It’s less of a harsh reminder that this is what he really looks like to others, and more of a, yeah, that’s me, but it’s just another body. It’s nothing noteworthy, nothing special, just some average guy.  
  
Mark looks at his own face on the other side of the couch for a bit longer. Johnny put on Mark’s glasses so he could see the tv, the frame resting high on the bridge of his nose. Mark doesn’t think he’s ever seen himself from this angle with his glasses.   
  
His side profile is kind of nice, maybe. The shape of his nose is almost the opposite of Johnny’s, sharp and bending down, but it doesn’t look too bad, actually. Is it weird to look at your own face like this, and like it? Mark feels like he shouldn’t, like he should remain critical. But he knows, reasonably, that he can be a bit hard on himself.  
  
He watches as Johnny takes a small sip from his wine glass. Johnny knows how to drink wine, and he makes it look so cool and sophisticated, even when he has to use Mark’s body. Mark himself can only barely handle red wine, and he’s trying to learn it for Johnny, but he still needs to chase every sip with some lay’s. Even now with Johnny’s taste buds. He’s starting to suspect that instead of actually liking it, Johnny has just become really good at pretending he does.  
  
Johnny had to take a raincheck on Jaehyun and Ten, and thankfully they didn’t ask any questions. And now they’re just spending their evening at home, like they’ve done so many times already the past weeks, restricted to the inside of their apartment. Johnny suggested they watch Freaky Friday, or some other movie with body swapping, but Mark forcefully rejected that. A bit too confronting, he expects.  
  
They’ve ended up watching Bear Grylls, because Johnny said it would be good, mindless entertainment, and it looks kind of funny to see Johnny elegantly holding his wine and intently watching a grown man climb into the rotting carcass of a camel. Mark doesn’t know if Johnny is doing it on purpose, like it’s supposed to be ironic, or if he really doesn’t realise how funny it looks. Or if Johnny does it on purpose knowing it would look funny with Mark’s body. If he’s trying to entertain Mark. If so, he's doing a good job. Much better than the show on tv.  
  
If they never change back, Johnny living his life might actually be good for Mark. For Mark's life. Johnny would definitely be able to do a good job. Mark, however – he doesn’t know what to do at all, and the uncertainty is making his anxiety spike up again. The only thing he knows for sure is that he’d do a really bad job living Johnny’s life.  
  
He’s spiralling, again. “Johnny,” he mumbles, Johnny’s voice coming out shaky and weak. Mark’s body turns around to him. “What—what are we gonna do if we don’t change back?”  
  
Johnny hums, looking away at nothing in particular. He looks pensive, but not at all worried, and right now Mark really wishes he could see Johnny’s calming, reassuring face, and not just his own again. It just doesn’t work the same way. “I don’t know. I’ll think about that once we’re really not changing back.”  
  
“How—” Mark swallows. The feeling of a lump settling in his throat must be a pretty universal one. It feels the same in Johnny’s body, together with his chest feeling tight, and his eyes starting to sting. “How do you know for sure that we’ll change back?”  
  
“I don’t,” Johnny says.  
  
Tears are really threatening to form in Mark’s eyes now. He tries to say something, but his throat is closing up and his thoughts are getting all jumbled as panic rises and they might be stuck like this, forever, and no one knows what to do about it.  
  
“Mark…” Johnny scoots closer and puts his arm around him, Mark’s own arm, but something about the warmth, the physical touch, instantly makes him give in and sink against Johnny, resting his face against his own shoulder.  
  
“Oh my god,” he manages, forcing a chuckle, because it’s fucking embarrassing having to be comforted by Johnny like this. “I think I might cry.”  
  
Johnny brings his other arm up around Mark as well. “I kind of feel like crying, too.”  
  
It does sound that way. Mark recognises the sound, the shakiness in his own voice. He blinks aggressively, swallowing, and starts to come up with excuses. “It’s the wine. Always makes me so emotional.”  
  
He’s not a crying drunk at all, and Johnny definitely knows this as well, but he doesn’t say anything. Just keeps his arms around him, and Mark is really not about to actually cry in front of Johnny right now.  
  
He pulls back awkwardly. “Um—” he half gurgles, and he hopes Johnny didn’t notice. He tries to clear his throat as quietly as possible. “Yeah… Well, um, thanks for that.” And he laughs a little, because what the fuck, why is he so _fucking_ awkward.

He dares a glance at Johnny’s direction, and Johnny just smiles at him with Mark’s face, a weird smile that Mark can’t read at all. Mark can’t stop another reflexive giggle. “Fucked up, this…” He’s not even sure what he’s talking about anymore.

“Yeah, it is…” Johnny laughs back at him. “But we’ll be fine. I’m sure of it.”

Mark still feels dangerously close to tears, and this situation is way too uncomfortable to him, way too different from how they usually are, and he’s relieved when Johnny turns back to the tv, rewinding the few minutes he missed.

They don’t speak any more after that. Mark follows Johnny’s example again and focuses all his attention on watching Johnny’s idol make his way through the Sahara. At least he and Johnny aren’t stuck in a desert, being tricked by mirages leading them to a certain, painful, dehydrated death. It could always be worse.

When the episode ends, Johnny stretches Mark’s arms above his head with a big yawn. It’s still pretty early, but Mark can definitely relate to the feeling. They’ve had a lot to digest today.

"I think I'll take a shower, too…" Johnny starts, voice trailing off. Mark waits for him to continue. Johnny turns to him, and Mark is surprised by the solemn expression on his face. “Uh. I know I was joking around this morning, about touching your dick and stuff, but I. I didn’t actually even ask, are you okay with me, like, showering in your body and stuff?”

“Oh, yeah, dude, that’s—that’s totally fine,” Mark says, somehow managing to make it sound not even that weird, even though his head is already overflowing with many different thoughts again.

Johnny grins. “Yeah? I can touch you, like, everywhere? See every part of your body?”

“Dude—yeah, it’s fine, you can touch my dick,” Mark says, and he starts laughing nervously because what the _fuck_ is he saying. “I mean, like—um…”

The smile Johnny puts on Mark’s face is not wicked or mean or anything like that at all. “That’s good to know though, like... As you said, it’s kind of weird. I just wanted to ask first.”

“Oh my god I’m so sorry, I didn’t even ask you! But I—I promise you, I didn’t even look!”

Johnny laughs loudly. “Hey, I _told_ you to shower. That was my permission.” His smile turns more impish now, and Mark braces himself. “But you can look, if you want. Or touch.”

Fuck. Mark is seriously going to lose it sometime soon. He splutters, frantically searching for any thoughts that are not horny. Thankfully Johnny doesn’t continue to watch him struggle, turning to the table to fold up the half-empty bag of lay’s. “Um, Uh… Did you—did you want to sleep in your own bed tonight? Or like, in my body’s bed? So mine?”

“Uh…” Johnny folds the opening of the bag up in that way that makes it stay put without a clip. “Let’s just go to our own, right?”

“Yeah… Yeah, that would be the best idea,” Mark agrees.

“By the way, your bed stinks. When did you last change your sheets?”

“What! Dude, c'mon, I do it regularly!” Does his bed really stink to Johnny? Shit. But he didn’t know Johnny would be lying in it. Fuck, Johnny has been in his bed. And it might have been in Mark’s body, but. _Fuck_. “Weren’t you like, gonna shower? I’ll, I’ll clean up here, you can go now.”

Mark keeps his word, and cleans up everything from the coffee table. He even washes the wine glasses by hand, because he knows they’ll turn ugly in the dishwasher.

He can hear when Johnny turns the shower on, and it instantly takes him back to when he was in the bathroom. Fuck, Johnny is about to undress his whole body now. Or maybe he already did. Maybe he’s looking at Mark’s body in the mirror like Mark did, too, turning it around, posing it. Maybe—Johnny sometimes makes jokes about Mark’s butt, arching his back and sticking his own butt out and saying that’s what Mark looks like, and they always sound like they’re just jokes, but—

Maybe Johnny is looking at Mark’s ass right now. Maybe he has his back towards the mirror, looking over his shoulder. Tilting his hips a little. Maybe he’s—

Mark slaps his cheek (carefully, as it’s not his own), because, _what the fuck_. Of course he isn’t. Johnny is not like _him_. He’s just going to take a normal shower, he won’t even consider all of the weird shit Mark keeps thinking of.

Mark puts the tea towel back on its hook, and quickly makes his way to his own bedroom, making sure to close the door before grabbing his guitar again. It worked really well last time, so why wouldn’t it right now, too. And if he keeps playing, he won’t hear any of the things going on in the bathroom.

Not that anything _is_ going on, of course. Johnny is just showering like he normally does. Maybe using his own products on Mark's body, instead of Mark’s 3-in-1 body wash that he’s made fun of before, but that’s alright, maybe even better for Mark’s skin, and God, Mark really needs to stop thinking about Johnny in the shower.

Johnny’s fingertips feel a little sore when he presses them down on the strings, but Mark continues anyway. He’ll stop when Johnny’s hands get blisters, but for now, the pain is a good distraction, working well to keep his thoughts steered clear from horny.

But even when he’s in bed, Mark can’t really stop thinking about it. He told Johnny that he could _touch his dick_. Was his mind subconsciously, or maybe not so subconsciously, asking him to do it? Did Johnny take it as an invite? _Did he do it_?

He probably did, to wash it. He did it to clean it, much more thoroughly than Mark did. He probably touched Mark everywhere, with a washcloth or maybe with his bare hands, and it really wouldn’t have been anything sexual, Mark repeatedly tells himself.

If they don’t switch back tomorrow, or anytime soon, Mark will need to wash Johnny’s body more properly too. He will have to touch Johnny everywhere, it’s unavoidable. Mark lies rigid in bed, straight on his back with his arms next to Johnny’s body, and he knows Johnny’s heart is pumping all his blood towards his dick again.

He really tries to will the feeling away, to will the thoughts away, but it’s been so long, and he’s so _desperate_. Johnny's balls ache, they _hurt_ , and it can't be healthy like this. And _he_ is the one who put Johnny's body in this state, and if they do switch back tonight, Johnny will have to suffer the effects. Really, he's doing Johnny's body a favor if he does it.

It's a flimsy excuse. He knows. It’s barely even enough to convince himself. But the prospect of release is so tempting, and he gives in anyway.

He gets up on his knees and reaches under his bed for the pillow he keeps there. It was a decorative throw pillow, but its function in Mark’s room is absolutely not decorative, and he makes sure to keep it hidden at all times, so absolutely no one will ever use it as an actual pillow.

Because sometimes, using your hand to jerk off gets a bit boring, a bit stale. And it’s not like he’s still thirteen and just learning how to masturbate, but sometimes he just thinks it’s nice to hump a pillow until he comes. And it comes in especially handy when you’re stuck in your flatmate's body and you want to, kind of really need to, get off, but you don’t want to touch him anywhere like this.

Johnny might have said it was okay to touch, but he definitely didn’t mean for this purpose. And it really is fucked up. Mark shouldn’t be doing this, but still, just the idea that he’s going to be getting Johnny’s body off is making him even harder.

He positions the pillow under his hips, and reaches down only to adjust the position of Johnny’s erection in his underwear, pulling his hand away as soon as that’s done. He doesn’t care that it’s going to be uncomfortable, there probably won’t even be enough time for it to start chafing, because Mark is pretty sure he’s going to come within seconds.

He carefully lowers his hips to the pillow and rolls them against it, and _fuck_ , it feels so fucking good. A shiver runs over his entire body, cock throbbing, and Mark almost groans out loud. He bites Johnny’s lips just in time, the walls are too thin.

For a few seconds he stays like that, just pressing his hips into the pillow and breathing roughly. He’s already so fucking hard, Johnny’s cock overly sensitive and Mark knows he shouldn’t be stopping and actually thinking about it, definitely shouldn’t be saving the way this feels in Johnny’s body into his brain, because that’s making it so much worse, but he does it anyway.

He’s keeping his body up on his elbows, and it’s so clear how much stronger than him Johnny is, his arms not shaking in the slightest. Mark can see Johnny’s biceps straining against the sleeve of the T-shirt Mark changed into, the shirt that’s big and wide on himself, and his cock throbs again, craving release.

He wasn’t going to think about anything, he was just going to get it over with as quickly as possible, but he should’ve known it was pointless to even try. Mark rolls his hips into the pillow again, and again, reveling in the intense relief he feels to finally be able to get off.

The ache he feels deep down in his stomach is familiar, intensifying with every thrust of his hips, and Mark realises he has no idea what it’s going to feel like when Johnny reaches orgasm, how the build-up will feel, how he will know Johnny’s body is going to come. But then he feels his balls tighten, and his head goes empty, and all he can do is blindy, madly chase that feeling.

His movements grow wilder, hips thrusting hastily and maybe he’s making the bed creak, but he can’t care right now, he needs to go on. It’s so fucking good and he knows he’s nearly there.

And then his orgasm hits him, washing over him all-consuming, familiar but at the same time so new and different, like nothing he’s ever experienced before. It completely overtakes him, leaving him shuddering and twitching as Johnny’s cock pulses, finally emptying his balls and blowing his load.

Coming back down, Mark has to focus all his available energy on trying to steady his breathing and trying to stay as quiet as possible as he trembles through the aftershocks. He’s panting through his wide open mouth, and it’s much harder to stay still than it is in his own body. He really hopes Johnny can’t hear.

God, he really did it. And it feels so good, still, all the tension finally leaving Johnny’s body, giving way for a lazy, warm bliss slowly spreading through all his limbs.

But his underwear is moist and sticky now, and it feels like Johnny comes a lot, a lot more than Mark normally does. And that knowledge would probably make him hard again, if it wasn’t for the fact that this is Johnny’s underwear, and his pyjama pants too, and Mark fucked up again. The tissues were right fucking there on his nightstand.

With wobbly limbs he climbs out of bed and shoves his pants and underwear down, decisively not looking, but he still has to see Johnny’s cum when he’s trying to wipe most of it off with some tissues. But ignoring that it’s _Johnny’s_ isn’t hard when he’s worried about it leaving stains in Johnny’s expensive boxer briefs. He’ll have to soak them in cold water tomorrow and hope for the best, and remember to do his laundry separately.

He hides Johnny’s clothes away under his bed, next to the pillow, so Johnny won’t see them in a heap on the floor in case they switch back, and crawls back into bed, ready to finally let the body he's in melt into the mattress and fall into a deep sleep. But right before his head hits the pillow, thank fucking God, Mark remembers that he’s still half naked. If Johnny woke up in his own body tomorrow, wearing only a T-shirt and no pants or underwear—yeah, that would probably be Not Good.

Fortunately, in the very back of his underwear drawer, he still has some old and stretched-out underwear that he really should’ve thrown out ages ago, but that fits around Johnny’s body well enough. And maybe he could just play it off by saying he felt too uncomfortable in Johnny’s preferred type of underwear. He applauds his sleepy, cloudy brain for being able to come up with that, and then, _finally_ , lies back down in bed and lets himself drift off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so ik i said soon, but turns out i'm really bad at planning. the next chapter might take a little longer!  
>    
>   
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/frxdmr)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last part became two, to keep the chapters a bit more even

Mark remembers a particular instance that happened when he and Johnny had only just been flatmates. They were still pretty awkward, or at least Mark was, because until then he had only known Johnny as Jaehyun’s really cool, really funny older friend, and now they were suddenly living in the same two-bedroom apartment, sharing the same space practically seven days a week.

So, yeah, Mark had been awkward. And unable to control his laughter around Johnny, and consequently worried that it seemed like he was trying way too hard, and then acted like they were strangers to compensate. But there was this one moment that has never been able to leave Mark’s mind.

It was the weekend and Mark had still been in bed, sleeping in, when Johnny’s voice woke him up. Johnny had called his name, saying something that Mark doesn’t exactly remember, but he does remember being sleepy and not really thinking, and telling Johnny to come in.

What happened afterwards plays like a movie in his head. Johnny entered his bedroom, clearly fresh from the shower, wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist and nothing more. He just casually walked in like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was, maybe it should be, because they were sharing an apartment after all. It probably shouldn’t be anything weird. If it was anyone else, Mark is pretty sure he wouldn’t have bat an eye.

But God, Mark would’ve liked some time to prepare for seeing Johnny like that.

Johnny asked him if he had any body lotion, walking up to Mark’s bed and allowing Mark to be able to see him very clearly even without his glasses. “I wanted to wear shorts today,” he said, “but I just think my knees are a bit dry. Don’t you think?”

And he had lifted his leg towards Mark’s face, presumably to show his knee but by doing so his towel slipped off the swell of his quad, falling open. It still hid everything it should, but Mark was suddenly faced with so much naked Johnny skin, he could see all the way up the inside of Johnny’s thigh, and there was also Johnny’s toned stomach exactly in his line of sight, and his fucking treasure trail leading right down into his towel and Johnny was so much bigger than him, hovering over Mark the way he was and Mark’s brain just short-circuited.

He thinks he continued on autopilot, telling Johnny he had no body lotion and Johnny mumbled something that Mark couldn’t catch, and he walked away and left Mark there in his bed, ready to disintegrate and horrifyingly becoming aware of his throbbing boner.

It was a turning point for Mark, and made him realise that maybe him wanting to be like Johnny wasn’t really him wanting to be like Johnny at all. And he could come to terms with it, later, in retrospect it made a lot of sense. But at that moment it made him shaky with anxiety, feeling like control was slipping from his hands and it petrified him.

Waking up this morning was slightly reminiscent of that time. Unlike yesterday, Mark woke up in his own bed today, in his own bedroom, and he had slept really well. But as he slowly became more conscious, he felt that he had his hand stuffed between his thighs that weren’t _his_ thighs, and he felt the way he took up more space in his bed, and the way soft hair was falling over his ear and the side of his cheek where his own hair doesn’t reach and it was like a bucket filled with ice being dumped over him.

He’s still lying in bed now, breathing slowly through his nose, most of his immediate anxiety already fading as he focuses on calming down. Things didn’t get better, but they also didn’t get worse, and Mark tries to just accept it. He carefully reaches down to brush his fingers over Johnny’s kneecap. The skin does really feel a bit dry.

Slowly able to relax a bit again, Mark burrows the side of Johnny's face into his pillow. A mixture of his own and Johnny’s scent greets him, Johnny’s now dominant. Contrary to what Johnny for some reason believes, it really hasn’t been that long since he last changed his sheets, but Mark is now considering never changing them ever again. Johnny’s scent is so good, it’s comforting, and it’s also kind of sexy, and Mark loves it.

A sudden shiver runs over his skin when he realises what kind of Johnny sweat he's probably smelling right now. He remembers how fucking good he felt last night, how good it was to get off, and then the guilt comes back in full force.

He knows he should be feeling disgusted with himself, because what he did was really not okay, but it’s hard when it felt so good. It felt so good, so right, when he just gave in to it, those few moments when he stopped thinking and worrying and caring so much.

Still, there is the shame of having given in. The lingering resentment he feels for having these thoughts in the first place, even though he knows there’s nothing wrong with the way he feels, about Johnny, about other men. He’s allowed to feel these things, Mark tells himself. He’s allowed to act on it, even.

But not like this though. He should definitely tell Johnny. He should confess what he’s done, at the very least. That’s the only first step he can take, if he wants to come to terms with it. And he can't leave Johnny in the dark about it, because it's Johnny's fucking body. Mark _needs_ to be honest.

He lifts his head and looks at his phone. It’s very tempting to just tell Johnny over text, that way he can easily turn off his phone afterwards, and not look at it again, and avoid anything that might happen. But it probably won’t really work that well when you’re sharing the same apartment.

He has to tell him in person, and he has to do it before the end of the day, Mark decides for himself. Thinking about it, he might actually be able to bring it up in a pretty natural way. If they don’t change back, Mark will probably have to do it again, because that’s just how it is. And Johnny would have to do it, too. Maybe Mark could even tell him what feels best on him, what’s the most effective way or how Johnny should touch his body to really draw it out and get maximum results.

Or not. No need to get ahead of things. Mark turns to his back and takes a deep breath, willing the half-formed images of Johnny following his directions away. That’s something for later, or probably, realistically, _never_. Let’s just start the day in a normal, not so horny way.

He twists around and grabs his phone, unlocking it to send Johnny a more inconspicuous _You up? Still in my body?_

 _Yup_ , Johnny sends back within a few seconds. _Youre still in mine too?_

 _Yeah_. Mark lifts his arm above the blanket to check Johnny's tattoo, just to be sure. It’s still there, and his arm is still Johnny’s.

 _It would be kinda funny if you woke up in your body too_ , Johnny replies. Mark doesn't think that would be very funny, but he doesn't comment on it. _Two marks_.

 _No johnny :(_. It really wouldn’t be funny.

 _I would miss me_.

 _I would miss you too_ , Mark sends back without hesitation. Even though in essence Johnny would still be there, it would really be a shame if his body was gone, he thinks. And then berates himself for being so superficial. Johnny is way more than just his hot body. But Mark just does have a type.

 _Aw_ 🤭🤭, Mark gets back, making him smile at his phone. He knows there’s no way any of his words would make Johnny react like that, ever, not in a genuine way, but the emoji is still kind of cute. All of it is kind of cute, actually, lying in his bed and texting Johnny who’s one room over. Johnny who doesn’t know what kind of shit Mark has been up to in his body. Mark bites the inside of his cheek, hard, and remembers that’s Johnny’s skin he’s breaking. He stops, and forces himself to calm down.

 _Wanna get up and get breakfast?_ There’s no need for him to ask like that, normally they just do whatever they please. But Mark wants to keep their conversation going.

 _Im already up lol_ , Johnny sends him back. _Making breakfast as we speak_.

Now that Johnny mentions it, it actually has been smelling pretty good here. Mark inhales through his nose, smells the sauteed onions Johnny always adds to his omelettes, and his mouth starts to water.

Mark makes a stealthy detour to Johnny's bedroom, the sound of the extractor hood masking him as he takes another pair of Johnny's sweats from his closet. He could've probably just asked, but by doing so he would risk Johnny asking questions as well, and Mark is not ready to tell him just yet. 

Johnny’s at the stove in the kitchen and he’s got Mark’s body wearing one of his own big, grey hoodies, completely drowning Mark’s frame. When he looks over his shoulder to greet Mark with a grin that's way nicer than Mark currently deserves, Mark notices something that takes his attention away.

He leans forward to get a better look. “Yo, how’d you get my hair like that!”

It’s a bit of a repeat of yesterday, Mark realises as he sees a pleased smile grow on his own face. But instead of greasy or weird, Johnny somehow made Mark’s hair curly. The hair on top of his head is not frizzy or unruly like usual, but there are actual, soft curls falling over his forehead.

“It looks nice, right!” Johnny shakes Mark’s bangs in front of his eyes. “I just scrunched it,” he says, and Mark doesn’t know what that means, but Johnny shows him, repeatedly making a fist next to his bangs like he’s squeezing Mark’s hair together.

“Wow… And you just gave me curls like that?”

Johnny laughs. “These are not _curls_ , Mark. They’re just waves.”

“Oh…” Mark chuckles. He doesn’t know that much about hair. It looks really nice, though. Mark never really tries to style his hair, but maybe he should start doing it. “Can you teach me how to do that, later?” If that later comes, at least.

“Of course.” Johnny turns to look at his omelette, and turns the heat down. He looks back at Mark with that vaguely judgmental expression that Mark recognises from Johnny’s own face, but Johnny has Mark’s face now, and he has to look up since Mark is now so much taller than him, and it just doesn’t have the same effect. “But you gotta throw that 3-in-1 crap out. It’s really trash.”

Mark laughs awkwardly, feeling a little called out. He knows it’s bad, but it’s so convenient, and it also saves him money. “I’ll use it up, and then I won’t buy it anymore. If you can show me what I should get instead?”

“Sure. But seriously, don’t wash your hair with that stuff anymore, it’s really way too harsh. Strips your hair of everything and then it becomes fucked.”

“Huh…” Is that why Johnny’s hair always looks so nice? Because he actually knows what to do? “How do you know all this stuff, dude?”

“Oh—” Johnny turns away again to sprinkle his omelette with the onions, and then some cheese, too. “I used to date this girl who was like, really serious about hair care. I don’t know if you remember, I don’t think you ever met. It was a few years ago. But anyway, she had curls, and it took like, a lot of effort. Seriously, her hair was so important to her?” Johnny laughs. “And I just still remember it, I guess.”

“Ah, I see,” Mark says, even though he caught only half of that. He’s not sure why but it always makes him feel so weird, to hear Johnny so casually talk about past girlfriends. It’s not jealousy, he knows that. It was in the past, and more importantly, Johnny and him aren’t even together, what the _fuck_.

But there’s some kind of envy there, some kind of longing for something he knows will never be. Mark doesn’t really want to dwell on it.

He gets his focus back in the present and watches as Johnny presses on the folded omelette with the spatula. The sleeve of Johnny’s sweatshirt falls over Mark’s wrist, bunches up at his elbow, the hood is slightly askew around his neck. Maybe Johnny had a point yesterday, when he said Mark looked good in his clothes. Maybe Mark likes seeing himself wearing Johnny’s clothes. Mark looks at his hair again, the way the light bounces off the loose coils, and his hand starts to rise automatically. “Can I… Can I touch it?”

Johnny snorts, looking up at Mark. “I mean, it’s _your_ hair.” He bends Mark’s head in Mark’s direction, and Mark reaches up to feel it, careful not to mess it up. It feels softer, but still pretty different from Johnny’s. Mark lets his hand drop with a hum, mind drifting again.

He knows Johnny meets up with men sometimes, he’s pretty open about that. He sleeps with them, Mark assumes, although he’s never had the courage to ask. But what else are you doing if you meet with people in the middle of the night for just a few hours.

But the thing is, Mark has never seen Johnny actually dating a guy. He’s never heard about any past boyfriends, Johnny has never suggested the potential existence of anything like that. And Mark has never straight out asked Johnny about his sexuality, because he can’t just do that, but maybe sleeping with men doesn't mean that much to him.

Mark doesn’t exactly have the best track record, either, when it comes to the functionality of his gaydar. Or perhaps his ready and willing for a relationship-dar. He remembers that Daniel guy he met last summer. Mark can still hear him call Mark’s name with the soft lilt of his southern accent. Mark seriously, genuinely thought they had something going on, something tentative and fresh, but hopeful. Mark thought they were _flirting_.

Well, Mark was, or attempted to, at least. And it seemed like Daniel was, too, but then one night Mark saw him with his arm around the waist of a small, pretty girl, and he introduced her to Mark as his girlfriend, and that was that.

Mark thinks Johnny knew, because Johnny kept close to him for the rest of the evening, entertained him, made him laugh, and didn’t ask any questions. Which made it even worse. Because, of course, Mark _liked_ Daniel, but part of the reason he went for it, other than the fact that Daniel was really hot and so nice to Mark, was because Mark wanted to get his mind off Johnny.

And he wanted to just test the waters, maybe, try something casual, do some experimenting. He was willing to try, but other opportunities haven’t crossed his path since. So now, Mark hasn’t got any further with any guy, he still doesn’t have any more experience. He knows about those hookup apps, that Johnny probably uses as well, but there’s no way Mark could do that. Showing up at some stranger’s place completely inexperienced, and just expecting things to go well. They wouldn’t.

Mark doesn’t even want that, not anymore. He knows he’s kinda fucked. He wishes he could say his feelings have just magnified since lockdown, since being around Johnny so much more than before. But that’s a lie he can’t possibly convince himself of. Even back in November, he stopped texting back that girl he met at Yuta’s birthday party, after they hooked up a few times. And he still feels bad about it, but he worried it would get too serious, and he’d end up having to reject her. Because really, all he’s been able to think about for a long while is Johnny.

His own voice floats into his head. "Mark, are you listening?"

"What?" He wasn't, obviously.

Johnny snorts. "I asked you to get some plates. And a cup, if you want coffee too."

"Right, of course." 

Johnny ushers him to eat his half of the omelette before it turns cold—while he remains at the counter and gets more things from the cupboards—and says, "You're a big boy, now. You need to eat well." Which makes Mark laugh because that sounds so funny, but at the same time kind of weirdly sexual, and he probably shouldn’t be thinking about things like that because Johnny didn’t even say it in a suggestive way at all. Johnny just _is_ a lot bigger than Mark.

Mark shakes his head a little to get rid of the weird thoughts. “Are you not eating though?” 

Johnny is cracking another egg into a clean bowl, and gets a whisk from the cutlery drawer. "I’m gonna try making some pancakes too. I was kind of craving them."

“Yo…” Mark leans back in his chair. This is so much better than his usual cornflakes and milk. “You’re so culinary today!”

Johnny looks from the bowl in his hands to Mark, and laughs. “This is hardly culinary though. I just thought it was funny to cook in your body.” He gasps then, setting the bowl on the counter and turning to Mark with sparkling eyes. “Yo, dude, take a picture of me! Like, of yourself, cooking! It’s gonna be so funny for later."

For later, for when they are back to their normal bodies. If that ever happens at all. But Mark doesn’t want to be so pessimistic about it again, not this early in the morning. And it does look funny, seeing himself suddenly so good at cooking.

He grabs his phone and takes some blurry shots of his back, and gets up to get his hands on it, too, as Johnny adds raisins to his batter and mixes them in.

"Hang on," Johnny says, preparing the frying pan and grabbing a ladle. Then he turns to Mark. “Do you look good like this?"

“ _Me_?”

“Yeah?” Johnny gestures down at himself, at Mark's body, standing at the stove with a scoop of batter ready, his free hand coming up to fix the hood of his sweater.

“Oh—yeah, sure?” Mark thinks he looks pretty normal, except for the fact that he’s cooking, and it looks like he's having a really good hair day. Mark thought he was just taking some quick snapshots.

“If you move a little bit more over there, you can get like, your own silhouette. It would look nice I think. ”

“Okay…” Mark tries to do what Johnny says, but all he sees on his screen is the flare of the sun. And he doesn't really need this many pictures of himself making pancakes.

Johnny adds the batter to the pan, and glances at his side. "Get your butt on it, too."

"What?" Mark laughs, and realises Johnny is actually serious.

“Do it. It looks good, right?” Johnny rearranges his hoodie around Mark's waist, the silhouette of Mark's body showing up dark on Mark's phone screen.

“Uh—" Mark steps back a little, remembering that it's just for a picture. "Okay, it’s in the frame…” He's a hundred percent certain Johnny is arching his back now, sticking his butt out unnecessarily far, but Mark takes some pictures anyway. "Okay, I got it now…"

He warily shows them after Johnny asks him to, but Johnny actually makes some appreciative sounds. "Not bad. Can I post these in my story?"

"On instagram?" Mark doesn't have an account, but Johnny often asks him if he can post Mark's pictures. "Yeah, sure."

He sends the pics to Johnny as Johnny flips the first pancake, and frowns at its burned underside. Mark can't help laughing. Maybe it's not all that unfamiliar after all.

When Johnny is working on his second pancake, and Mark has just finished his omelette, Johnny turns around to him again. “Hey,” he says, presenting the frying pan to Mark. “You want to flip it?”

“You—you want _me_ to flip it? Are sure?” Mark refrains from taking the pan from Johnny’s hands, staring up at his own face instead.

“Yeah! You’ve got my hands now, you’ve got this.”

But Mark is still absolutely not confident in his ability to handle Johnny’s body, and he whines. “That makes it even worse, though!”

Okay, maybe he didn't word that very well. Johnny narrows Mark’s eyes at him, making Mark giggle an excuse as he reluctantly takes the pan. “Sorry, I mean, it’s just unfamiliar. I’ll try, I guess.”

He moves the pan around a bit, watching as the pancake slides around and getting a feel of how it feels, but every time he tries to flick it up in the air, his hand just freezes. Johnny starts laughing, and Mark joins in, helplessly looking at him. “Oh, dude, I can’t do it!”

Despite laughing at him, Johnny remains inexplicably supportive. “Of course you can! Just do it!”

So Mark tries again, closes his eyes and just hopes for the best, hopes that he won’t drop Johnny’s pancake to the floor. When he blinks his eyes open, he sees that the flipped pancake has landed perfectly in the middle of the pan.

“Damn!” Johnny marvels, and Mark laughs.

“Dang,” he follows. He’s honestly surprising himself. “Yo, that was, like, perfect!”

“I told you you could do it! You gotta have some confidence, Mark!” Johnny says, and Mark just laughs awkwardly. He has plenty of confidence in other things, he thinks, but he's pretty sure this was just a fluke. Or perhaps really the result of having Johnny’s hands.

Johnny finishes making the rest of the pancakes, letting Mark flip them, and Mark might actually be starting to get the hang of it, because they flip perfectly every time, with progressively less wavering.

“You know what this means, right,” Johnny says as he sits down across from Mark, at the place where he usually sits when he is being himself, too. He sets the stack of pancakes between them, and Mark stabs the top one with his knife to bring it to his own plate. “From now on, you can’t let me do all the cooking alone.”

Mark chuckles, and reaches for some fruit and syrup to top his pancake with. “Are you sure, though? Like, when I get my own hands back, I’m gonna be crap at it again...”

“I think you should have some more faith in yourself,” Mark’s own body and own voice tells him and it’s suddenly a really weird experience. But probably not wrong, though. Involuntarily, Mark shudders a little. “I did this cooking with your hands,” Johnny continues, “and it’s just fine. So that’s not it.”

“Huh, maybe you’re right…” Mark cuts his pancake in bite-size pieces, and starts laughing a little. He has messed up microwave lasagne to the point of it being inedible, but maybe he’s been able to cook all along. And okay, flipping pancakes might not exactly be a tour de force, but it’s a start, at least.

And they taste really good, too. It might be because he helped make them, but the faint apple crumble flavour of Johnny’s recipe is really nice, and even though some are definitely a little burned, Mark actually kind of likes the edge that the chewy, charred raisins add to it.

Johnny eats while scrolling through his phone, which would be a normal sight if it wasn’t for him doing it with Mark’s body, Mark’s hands effortlessly operating his own iphone. Mark guesses he’s scrolling through instagram. Johnny relays to him what Jaehyun and Taeyong have to say about the picture, which is simply a picture of Mark when it's online, and then chuckles at something and starts typing.

Mark figures that’s something they'll have to work on, too, the ways and the amount of time they use their phone, if they want to portray each other convincingly. But for now, as long as it's just the two of them, it should be fine. Mark really, really hopes it won’t get to that point.

After some time, Johnny puts his phone down, and looks up at Mark. “So, I was thinking last night, about what might help us,” he starts, and Mark feels an instant wave of guilt wash over him, his jaws stopping around the mush of pancake and banana in his mouth. Johnny spent his time last night thinking about possible solutions, _trying to help them_ , and all Mark was doing was humping a fucking pillow. Fuck, and he still needs to tell Johnny about that.

He imagines telling Johnny right now, telling him that he _wasn't_ thinking last night, but more like blindly following his primal urges, and he's so caught up trying to swallow his food and holding back a reflexive laugh at what a fucking terrible idea that would be, that he doesn't completely understand Johnny. "I'm sorry, _what_?"

“I was thinking, what if we kissed? What if it switched us back?” Johnny repeats, and fuck, okay, Mark actually did understand him correctly.

Mark's panicked laughter sounds really weird in Johnny's voice. “Bro, just— _what_?”

He gapes at Johnny, and his own face just laughs back at him. “Just a peck. Like in the fairy tales?”

“What kind of—what kind of…” Mark falls silent, because he can actually also remember several fairy tales in which a kiss solves the problem and transforms the characters’ bodies.

“It's worth a try, right?”

“Jesus, dude, I—” Mark still can't stop the abrupt giggles from bubbling up in his throat, and it's not even funny. It’s a _horrible_ idea. But that's still his own body, sitting across from him, and decisively not his own body currently enclosing his soul, and if a kiss is what they need to do to switch back…

Johnny must see his objection crumbling. He slides his chair back over the floor and lets Mark's hands come down on his thighs with a slap. "Well, come on.”

"Wait, hold up—" Once again, awkward laughter interrupts him. “You want me to sit _on your lap_?”

Johnny shrugs. “It's a good kissing position.”

There's really no good reason for Mark to have to sit on Johnny's, on his _own_ lap. If Johnny didn't move so far backwards, Mark could've literally just leaned over the table and reached him. And then there’s also their current configuration.

“Dude, I'm like, really heavy right now?” He says. He knows the kissing position Johnny is talking about, but as far as Mark is aware, that always has the girl on top. And of course, neither of them has to be the girl, because they're both guys, but still, Mark thinks it should be his body in Johnny's lap and not the other way around.

" _Really heavy_." Johnny scoffs, and laughs. "Well, I can sit on your lap too."

Okay, no, nevermind. The idea of Johnny getting into his lap is even worse to Mark. Even though, or maybe exactly because, Johnny is in Mark's body now. The image of Mark's form shamelessly straddling Johnny's thighs, having the kind of courage Johnny possesses to just lean in and kiss him, is too much for Mark to handle right now.

His defeated sigh is shuddery with nerves. “No, no, I'll do it.” He makes his way around the table and stops when he's in front of his own slightly parted thighs. The way Johnny is making his own face look up at him makes him laugh again. "Jesus, this is so unnecessary."

"Come on, do it for me." Johnny is making Mark's puppy eyes pretty damn effective, but that doesn't take away from the fact that whatever Johnny's suggesting right now sounds weird and Mark really doesn't understand what he means with it. But if it makes Johnny happy, he'll do it.

He carefully lowers himself over his own lap, trying not to let his eyes linger on the way Johnny's thighs look spread over his own, and looks up. “Just a peck, right?”

“Yeah.” Johnny taps his lips, _Mark's_ lips, smiling coyly. Mark really wishes he could hold back his nervous chuckles.

“Okay, fine. I’m gonna do it now,” he says. He stares down at his own face and tries to temporarily forget that it’s Johnny. It’s just himself, it's nothing weird, he can do this. He leans in really quickly, and presses Johnny’s lips against his own.

It’s a seriously awkward kiss, even to Mark, regardless of the fact that it was over within a millisecond. And when he leans back, he’s still sitting on his own lap, and not a single thing has changed. “Fuck, it didn’t even work.”

He scrambles off Johnny’s lap because he doesn’t think it’s necessary to stay there for any longer, and falls back in his own chair. Only now is he realising what he did, and it’s making his legs lose all their energy. “ _It didn’t even work_.”

“No, I know,” Johnny responds, almost curtly. “Damn, I really thought it might.” He drags his chair back to the table, and Mark sees his own face go from frustrated, to resigned, to something like neutral acceptance as Johnny shrugs his shoulders with a slight smile. “Well, we’ll have to figure out something else then, I guess.”

Mark rests his arms on the table. “I can’t believe we kissed each other,” he says unintentionally out loud, and he stares at the letters on Johnny’s hoodie because he can’t really look Johnny in the eye right now. They _kissed_. What the _fuck_.

“It was more like kissing ourselves, actually,” Johnny quips, and Mark laughs awkwardly.

“Yeah, I guess…” Kissing himself wasn’t really something he was expecting to do either.

“Although,” Johnny starts, and Mark looks up at him warily. He knows that tone. “I think if I was actually kissing _myself_ , and not like, you in my body, I think it would’ve been better.”

“Dude, what?”

“Like, you’re—” Johnny can barely hold back his chuckling. “I just think I’m a better kisser.”

“So you _want_ to kiss yourself?” Mark is skipping the part where Johnny is calling him a bad kisser, because this is way more distracting.

Johnny just laughs, and turns to his remaining bites of pancake, and Mark is afraid he’s never going to find out the answer. And he doesn’t want to press either, because he doesn’t want Johnny to think he’s actually that curious to find out who Johnny likes kissing (himself! He said he wanted to kiss himself!). He sags down in his chair. “Dude, what the fuck…”

“Like you wouldn’t want to kiss me, either,” Johnny says, and now Mark really doesn’t know what to say anymore. Johnny lifts his head, a small but absolutely devilish smile appearing on Mark’s own face, and Mark swallows hard. “It’s fine, Mark. You can admit it.”

“Dude, that’s—I _don’t_ —” He trails off into nervous giggles, which is practically admittance, Mark knows, but it’s not like he can control it. And he _would_ like to kiss Johnny, preferably when they’re in their own bodies, but he doesn’t know what will happen if he says that out loud.

“Anyway,” Johnny says casually, like the past few seconds didn’t happen. “I’ve come up with a schedule for us today. Because we need to get some stuff done.”

“Uh—okay?” Mark is struggling to adapt to the abrupt changes.

“Yeah, so. Actually, first of all, before we do anything else, I want to take some pictures of you.”

“Of me? So like, of yourself?”

“Yeah.” Johnny grins. “I realised I can actually take some nice pictures of myself now. I always take a lot of pics of you, but you…”

Johnny sends him a pointed look, feigning annoyance, but Mark can’t even feel offended, because he’s absolutely right. Johnny takes such nice pictures, and Mark never even thinks about getting his phone out to capture something until someone else has already done it. Even with the pics he took today, he had to have Johnny guide him through it. “Yeah, sure. Gotta make use of the situation, right?”

Johnny returns from his bedroom with his DSLR, and two extra lenses, and he grins at Mark. “Alright, I’m ready. We’re really going for it.”

He gets Mark to sit at his own usual spot, the chair still warm, and gets his black mug back from the sink to position it on the table with a lot of care. Then he closes the blinds until just narrow lines of sunlight are left, and makes Mark move a bit more to the side so the light hits just half of him.

Mark thinks it’s a lot of effort to put into a picture that’s supposed to look like a casual shot, but whatever. He lets Johnny fix his hair, and laughs but cooperates when Johnny moves his limbs like he’s a mannequin.

"Okay…" Johnny sits down at Mark's spot, and positions his camera in front of Mark's face. Mark waits for more instructions, but they don’t come.

“What do I do?”

“Just, pose?” Johnny takes a picture that Mark definitely wasn’t ready for, and changes something in the settings. “Make it look natural.”

That’s a big task to ask of Mark. He really tries though, poses with Johnny’s coffee mug, smiles at the camera, pretends to stare into the distance. Johnny snaps shots of him until he can’t hold back his laughter anymore.

“Fuck, why are you so awkward.” Johnny snorts as he goes through the pictures he took. “This doesn’t look right, oh my god…”

“I’m sorry?” Mark says, verging on exasperation. “I’m just not used to using your face? To—to being you?”

“You can just be yourself! Just be natural, I know you can do it.” Johnny raises his camera in front of Mark’s face again. 

In theory, it should make it easier, Mark thinks, having his pictures taken by someone who looks just like himself. And he's not usually this awkward around Johnny's camera when it's just Johnny either, but the fact is just that he remains hyper-aware that it's Johnny's physical form he's currently inhabiting. He can't cross his legs and not remember they're Johnny's, he can't lean his face on his hand the way Johnny tells him to, and not notice how different it feels. He can't pretend to sip coffee from an empty mug with his eyes downcast as by Johnny's orders and not feel like it's all just one massive scam.

"These last few were pretty good," Johnny says, though, and he turns his camera to Mark. Mark presses the little buttons to flip through them, and he feels a weird mixture of both pride and discomfort when he sees that Johnny is right, they don’t look awkward or off at all. The pictures look nice, even knowing how fake they really are. Like perfect candid shots of a really handsome guy, falsely suggesting attainability with its everyday setting. Perfect for instagram, Mark reckons.

And Mark did that. Huh. Although Johnny himself played a pretty big role in it, too.

"If you don't mind,” Johnny says when Mark hands him his camera back, “I'd like to take some more.”

Johnny relocates them to the couch. Or Mark, at least, he himself remains standing next to the coffee table, and he looks Mark up and down, scrutinizing him.

Mark is wearing one of his own oversized hoodies, and it’s still kind of oversized on Johnny’s body. Mark thought it looked good, not much different from how Johnny usually dresses, but for Johnny it must not be good enough. “What have you got underneath that?” he asks.

Mark lifts the hem of his sweatshirt and shows the plain T-shirt he’s wearing underneath. It’s really not that cold, but he felt like more clothes would be better. Safer, maybe.

It turns out to be pretty useless, though, because Johnny nods, and, to Mark’s consternation, says, “Okay, take it off.”

“ _Everything_?”

Johnny laughs. “Let’s just start with the hoodie,” he says, and that’s not really a relieving answer. “You need to show my guns, Mark!”

Well, if it’s just taking off the top layer, Mark can do that. He pulls the hoodie over his head and leaves it over the armrest, with one hand straightening out his T-shirt and the other reaching to fix his hair that’s now messed up again. Johnny stops him.

“No, leave it!” he says, “This looks nice. Pull your shirt up a little more, too.”

Mark stares at him. “Dude, for real?” He doesn’t like the direction this seems to be taking.

“What?” Johnny blinks innocently.

“Are you for real right now? You want to take pictures like _that_?” He starts laughing nervously, and wishes he could stop it.

“Uh, _yeah_?” Johnny says, like it should be self-explanatory. He positions himself on the other side of the coffee table, elbows resting on it and his big camera resting in Mark’s hands. “C’mon, just do it. And sit back a little.”

He’s always so good at persuading Mark. Even right now, without any real good reasoning as to why this is a good idea, Mark finds himself doing what Johnny tells him to. Johnny grins gleefully and lifts his camera to take a few shots, looking at the screen to check how they turned out.

He switches his lens, and practically crawls over the table to take a good shot, all the while directing Mark to “spread your legs a little. No, more. And tilt your head a bit back. And get your hands closer to the camera, so they look bigger.”

Jesus, Mark thinks, Johnny really knows exactly what makes him so hot. Which makes sense. Mark _knows_ Johnny knows, because else he probably wouldn’t look quite this hot.

“This looks so good,” Johnny says, and as if he can read Mark’s mind, he continues with, “I’m so hot.”

He stares at Mark over the viewfinder, and Mark flushes, his whole body heating up. Even though Johnny is really talking about, and looking at himself.

“C’mon, be a little more sexy!” Johnny goes on. “I want you to be feeling yourself. Myself…” He cracks up, but Mark can’t laugh about it at all. He can’t really do anything at all, frozen on the couch with his skin feeling like it’s on fire. He wonders if his flustered state is going to show up on the pictures.

Johnny changes something in the settings of his camera again, and gets in position to take some more pictures. “Okay, now close your eyes a little.”

Thankful for a bit of a break of seeing his own eyes stare at him so intensely, Mark does as Johnny asks. Only to open them wide again when Johnny starts laughing at him.

“Not all the way!” Johnny says, Mark’s body flopped down over the coffee table. “Are you daft? Here, like this.” Johnny straightens out Mark’s face, and tips his head back, eyes half open, eyelids heavy. Mark blinks at him, unable to breathe when Johnny trails one hand along the side of his face, down his stretched neck, staring at Mark with Mark’s own bedroom eyes and Mark _likes_ it, what the _fuck_. “Now you do that.”

“Uh—” Mark feels heat creeping up his neck, his heart suddenly racing and why is Johnny doing these things with Mark's body, he really shouldn't. Johnny already dropped the act, raising his eyebrows impatiently, but Mark can’t forget it that quickly. That was literally his own body, with Johnny inside it, making him feel some kind of way.

Johnny inside Mark’s body… Jesus, that phrasing is actually not great. This is really not a good thing to be thinking of right now. If Mark gets hard now, would Johnny want to take pictures of that, too? Would he want Mark to take off even more clothes, and attempt to take some tasteful dick pics of himself?

He can imagine what Johnny would look like, nude, sprawled out over their couch in the soft light of the morning sun. Tattoos on display, a hand tracing over his abs, the other lazily fisting his cock. Mark could literally be doing that right now, with Johnny’s own body, right in front of Johnny. He gingerly touches Johnny’s stomach, feeling the hard ridges of his muscles through the thin cotton.

“Oh, damn, that’s really good,” Mark hears his own voice say, and he remembers where he is, what the fuck he’s doing. He yanks his hand away, his blood running cold. “No, don’t move yet!” Johnny whines, crawling closer over the rug with his camera in one hand until he’s in front of the couch, his shoulders sagging.

“Dude, I—I really can't do this... Can't you just take normal pictures? Can’t we stop?"

Johnny pouts, and Mark wishes it was him, on his knees in front of Johnny, and now this is really getting out of hand. “But we were doing so well, though,” Johnny says. “It's hard to take pics like this with the self timer. I can take pics like this of you, too, when we're back to normal.”

Mark really doesn’t understand Johnny. He doesn’t know if he, maybe, really didn’t notice, but Mark finds it hard to believe that Johnny can’t tell how flustered Mark is. He teases Mark about the smallest of things, but now he’s acting completely normal with out-there shit like this.

“I—I really don't need pics like this...” He can already imagine a shoot like this one, but with Johnny directing Mark to show off what Johnny thinks his best assets are. He really doesn’t think he should be doing that.

“You don't?” Johnny grins, back to his teasing self and Mark really can't keep up. “You never send thirst traps to anyone?

“ _You_ do that?”

“Have you really never seen my instagram? I’ve sent them to you, too, those gym pics. Didn’t you like them?”

“Uh—yeah, I did, but—” He thought Johnny was just keeping him updated on the results of his lifting, but the pictures johnny sent him were _thirst traps_. Well, regardless of whatever Johnny was trying to achieve by sending those to Mark, they definitely succeeded in inciting thirst.

“Which perfectly takes us to the next point in my schedule,” Johnny says jovially, sitting up straight and setting his camera down on the table. “It’s time for your workout.”

“You want to go to the _gym_?”

“No, Mark…” Johnny sends him a disappointed smile? “They're still closed.”

“Oh! The—the _at home_ thing you've been doing? With the.. with the yoga mat…” Mark remembers now, and feels dread sneaking up on him. He's seen Johnny do that in the living room, the coffee table pushed to the side. He never really lingered to watch though, because Johnny does it wearing a sleeveless shirt and he probably groans and pants like Mark heard him do at the gym and it just. Wouldn't have been a good idea.

He stares at Johnny, who’s already started making space. They’re really going from one Bad thing straight into the next Bad thing, it seems.

“You’re gonna be so amazed with my body’s strength.” Johnny grins at him, and Mark doesn’t know how to tell him he’s already partially experienced that last night. Fuck, he still really needs to tell Johnny.

Johnny rolls out the yoga mat, and sits down on the carpet next to it. “I would join you,” he says, “but I need to guide you, too. I have to make sure you’re doing it right.”

“It’s fine,” Mark says with a resigned sigh. “I don’t mind if you don’t work out my body.” He’s dreading what’s about to come, but it’s also something he wants to keep up with, for Johnny.

Johnny’s routine starts with simple stretching, which is fine. Safe, too. Until Johnny gets Mark to sit on his hand and knees, spread his legs and lower his body to the ground until he's in some sort of butt over back pose that he's sure looks absolutely ridiculous. And Johnny sits next to him, laughs at him while he’s in that horribly suggestive (but honestly kind of comfortable) position for way too long until he says, “Don't arch your back like that! Keep your back straight and stomach flexed, always, unless I tell you not to.”

“Oh my god..?” Mark pushes Johnny’s body up out of its precarious position. “And you couldn't tell me right away?”

“It looked funny though.” Johnny chuckles. “Okay, I’ll be serious from now.”

From then on, the stretching gets progressively more uncomfortable, but it's supposed to, Johnny says, “if you're not feeling anything you're doing it wrong”. It’s easy for him to say, as he’s just guiding Mark into the right angles, and sitting back down on the carpet when he’s done, but Mark knows he probably goes through this several times a week.

“I used to be able to do splits, actually,” Mark says as he pulls Johnny’s knees in again, ignoring the shooting pain in his groin.

“Seriously?” Johnny gapes at him, and then immediately gets in position, spreading Mark’s legs as wide as they go. It’s been a while since Mark has done anything like that, but his legs still go pretty far, and Mark hopes Johnny is impressed with it. Johnny looks impressed, at least. “Wow…” he mutters, looking down at Mark’s body. Mark is happy he was able to show that he’s not entirely unathletic. Even more flexible than Johnny, actually. “Well,” Johnny says, getting himself into an easier position again. “Nice. But let’s continue, though.”

Mark has wondered before, what it would be like to be as strong as Johnny. And now, suddenly, without having had to put in any effort, he’s become that way. He’s got these massive biceps now, these defined abs, these thick thighs putting strain on the seams of Johnny’s sweatpants.

But he finds out that it doesn’t really feel all that different. It was fun when he did one push up and felt just how easy that went, how light it felt. Johnny laughed at his excitement, and Mark didn’t miss how pleased he looked. But Johnny makes him keep going until his arms and chest burn, until he collapses on the mat, unable to breathe, his heart pounding in his ears. Working out is still not fun, even when you’re as strong as Johnny. It’s just hurting yourself over and over again.

“Do we have to go this hard,” Mark pants during one of the short breaks Johnny allows him.

“I thought you liked pushing yourself.” Johnny offers Mark his glass of water, and Mark grabs it from his hand.

“I do, but not like this…” Even though Mark can’t deny he loves the way Johnny’s body looks, he doesn’t think he himself could justify putting that much time and effort into something that’s so much focused on aesthetic results. It’s not like he isn’t fit, either. He always takes the stairs instead of the elevator, he used to ride his bike to uni back when he still had actual classes, he goes hiking with Yuta sometimes and he’s usually able to keep up with him. And maybe Mark would look better with an extra ten kilos of muscle mass, but he’s not that keen on finding out, that he’s willing to devote such a big part of his time and energy to it. He can just look at Johnny instead.

If they stay like this, would Johnny ask Mark to keep this up? Or would they naturally switch over, Johnny’s limbs going back to slimmer and lankier, and Mark bulking up instead. Mark hopes he won't have a chance to find that out.

Johnny claps his hands. “Stay focused, Mark! Were not done yet.”

Mark groans a response. He can't even properly enjoy it, which is probably a blessing, to be honest. He can't look at Johnny's bulging bicep from the corner of his eye because the edges of his vision go black when he tries. If Johnny really makes himself go through this every other day, Mark's respect for his body is growing infinitely.

He grunts through a set of sit ups with his legs raised, Johnny making sure his lower back stays on the floor with a hand splayed over his own abs. He collapses onto the mat when he’s finally done, and takes a few deep breaths before he turns to Johnny. And then, even though his vision is kind of blurry, he catches it.

"Wait, are you—" Mark thinks he might be seeing things. But he knows his own body, he knows his own _dick_. In varying states of stiffness. He's not sure if he should even mention it at all, but Johnny is not doing anything to hide it. "Bro, you're like, half-hard."

"I know," Johnny says noncommittally. He leans back on an elbow, legs spreading just a fraction wider. “Your body must like my muscles.”

“ _Dude_ —” It absolutely wouldn't be the first time for that to happen to Mark's body. But that's usually with Mark in it, Mark's horny brain directing all its focus on Johnny and being unable to control himself. But with Johnny inside his body it’s a totally different situation.

Maybe it's just a coincidence, it might very well have nothing to do with anything. It might very well be happening at random, right.

"Come on, don't act like you've never seen your own dick before." Johnny grabs Mark’s dick through his sweats, repositions it and Mark realises he’s still staring at it. His eyes dart away, skimming over his own face and knowing for sure that he was caught. “Calm down, Mark.”

Mark hasn’t been able to truly calm down ever since he woke up yesterday morning. And Johnny is definitely not helping in any way right now. “You— _you_ should calm down...” He turns over and works himself into an upright position, slumping over his knees when Johnny’s exhausted stomach muscles are unable to keep him up. The succulent on the windowsill is still green and spiky, and Mark lets his eyes go unfocused at it. “Are we already done yet? With the workout?”

In his peripheral vision, he can see Johnny shift around. “Just a plank left. Hold it for as long as possible, at least two minutes.” Then he gets up completely. “I’ll go prepare you a shake,” he says, walking to the kitchen and leaving Mark behind to wonder what the fuck just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/frxdmr)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)

For a moment, Mark thought he was getting out of the workout, and whatever the hell that photoshoot was, relatively unscathed. After chugging the chocolate protein shake Johnny prepared for him, Mark escaped to the bathroom, and naively, he thought he could leave it behind him like that. But he should have foreseen that it wouldn't be so easy.

The bathroom, Mark quickly finds out, was not the best place to escape to. Because naturally, almost by reflex, he turns to his reflection in the big mirror, and of course, it’s Johnny’s body that’s looking back at him. There's really no way he can escape this reality.

Johnny’s muscles are pumped up right now, swollen and defined, veins visible. His face is flushed, his skin covered by a sheen of sweat, and it’s exactly the way Mark loves, but also, especially right now, cannot stand to see him. It's not unlike the way Johnny looks in his gym selfies, and Mark's senses were already heightened, his skin already feeling tight, endorphins rushing through his body and this is really not a good combination right now.

He turns away abruptly, not repressing a full body shudder. It's becoming really hard to ignore, the way Johnny's muscles feel full, his blood pounding, and Mark is starting to get a bit of a headrush.

Well, at least he can take a cold shower right away.

But Mark stops in his tracks before he’s able to turn the temperature knob, blood freezing over without the aid of the water. His whole body turns rigid and he stares at the faucet as a rather horrifying realisation dawns on him.

Johnny would’ve had to do this too, yesterday, when he took a shower, except to turn it hot. Mark forgot to do it before he left, and Johnny has seen that he had the temperature turned all the way back to a nice, crisp 20 degrees. Mark feels his hands curl into tight fists, fingertips digging into his palms. Johnny might know exactly what has been up (namely, his _own fucking dick_ ).

Mark might get whiplash with how fast his brain goes through extremes, moving from horny right back to distressed, never giving him a moment of peace. He loses all power in his legs, mind going cloudy with panic as he drops to his knees, ready to curl up on the shower floor.

But he needs to behave, and not do things Johnny wouldn’t do. And Johnny would probably not lay his body down on the nasty tiles which they haven’t mopped in way too long.

Come to think of it, what Johnny _would_ do, if he figured out the reason why the shower was so cold, is never let Mark hear the end of it. And Mark hasn’t heard anything about it. Mark takes a few deep breaths, until his tension settles a bit and the pinpricks he feels all over his skin disappear. He hasn’t heard any jokes about it, and if Johnny knew, there’s no way he would’ve been able to let that opportunity slide. So maybe it's okay, Mark should be fine. Nothing happened and he's just creating problems for himself.

Despite his blood already having run cold, Mark still turns the temperature of the shower down before he gets in. He’s not gonna take any more risks.

Mark is again faced with just how heedless his decision was when he’s toweled Johnny's body dry and remembers he didn’t bring any clothes with him. He’s forced to do as Johnny often does and wrap the towel around his waist, before reaching for the door.

It’s not something he really wants to think about, he’s been trying to avoid it, but if Johnny is in his own bedroom right now, Mark is not going to walk in, or even knock, or even _get close_ to the door. He knows there’s no way Johnny would be rubbing one out right now, no way he was even aroused in the first place earlier, so there’s literally no reason for Mark to even imagine Johnny currently masturbating in Mark’s body, but he definitely wants to avoid any chance of discovering that to be the truth after all.

But like usual, Mark’s worries were unnecessary. When he steps out of the bathroom, he finds Johnny on the couch, looking at his phone, one leg drawn up and tucked under the other, Mark's bottom lip sucked in between his teeth. He looks perfectly normal, as far as normal is really normal right now. Mark checks—he’s not hard anymore.

Johnny looks up at him, and for some reason starts molding Mark's face into an awfully sly smile, his eyes roaming over his own naked upper body.

“Can you get me some clothes?” Mark says quickly, not giving Johnny a chance to speak up. Mark is standing here with only a single towel covering Johnny’s pecker and he just swore not to take any more risks.

“Yeah, sure.” Mark's speedy decision works surprisingly well, and Johnny lets go of whatever he was coming up with. He gets up, and Mark follows him to his bedroom.

Johnny pulls some clothes from his closet for Mark, and Mark, in an attempt to keep things normal, turns away and drops the towel so he can pull up Johnny’s boxer briefs right away, trying his hardest to ignore Johnny’s soft dick right there. It’s not really sitting right in his underwear, but he can’t adjust it, definitely not right now. Anything in the vicinity of Johnny’s dick, with Johnny himself standing right next to him, feels like a very dangerous move.

He puts on the other clothes Johnny hands him, a pair of wide legged pants and another hoodie, and gets the towel up from the floor. “Um, I’m gonna do some laundry,” he says, and okay, that came out almost normal. Mark holds the towel in fumbling hands and turns to Johnny, who doesn’t look like he caught anything weird. “Do you have stuff too?”

Swallowing down his shame, Mark uses the towel and the clothes Johnny gave him to hide the soiled stuff he retrieves from under his bed. He even dashes through the hallway to the bathroom to make sure Johnny doesn’t catch him, and breathes out a relieved sigh when it’s all safely in the drum. The washing machine better do its job and make the clothes come out clean and without any evidence, because Mark can’t bear to take another look at them. Although, Johnny discovering it would give Mark a good opportunity to very naturally bring up—no, not yet. Mark is not ready to tell him yet.

Even though Johnny's already dressed Mark’s body, looking comfy with his currently narrower shoulders and shorter legs drowning in loungewear that was oversized to begin with, he asks Mark for another set of clothes, too. “Do you still have that striped T-shirt? The one with the high collar?”

“Um, yeah, I think?” Mark remembers what shirt Johnny means. They bought it together, or like, Mark bought it upon Johnny’s advice, because Johnny said it looked good on him. Mark hasn’t really worn it much because he thinks it’s a little flashy, and he doesn’t really know what to match it with, but he’s sure it’s still somewhere in his closet.

Johnny asks for some jeans, too, and a belt, and Mark trails behind him as he goes back to his own room to check himself out in the full-length mirror, adjusting the outfit he put together. Mark looks at it, too, begrudgingly.

“Do you have to wear it like that, though?” he asks, and by the sound of it, Mark has unintentionally been starting to master Johnny’s characteristic whiny tone. It makes Mark feel kind of weird.

“Why?” Johnny raises Mark’s eyebrows, and his glasses move with it a little. “What’s wrong with this?”

“I mean, like, tucked in like that?” The jeans Johnny picked are kind of high rise, and Johnny tucked the shirt all the way in. Mark wouldn’t have thought of wearing it like that himself.

“What’s wrong with it?” Johnny repeats, twisting Mark’s frame in front of the mirror. “Shows off your tight little body really well.”

“My—” Hang on, what? “My _what_?”

Johnny poses with his hands stroking down the sides of Mark’s waist, a playful smile growing on his face. “Your ideal twink body.”

He winks at Mark through the mirror, and Mark gapes at him, not sure how to process what he's hearing. He’s thought about it before, maybe, what he would use to describe himself, in _those_ types of categories, but he never got much further than ‘ _asian_ ’. “I’m a twink?”

“I mean, not now. Well—” Johnny cocks his head, looking down his own body in the mirror with a grin. “—I guess I’m still kind of a twink compared to the juiced guys at the gym. A bit hairy, though.”

Mark looks over his own shoulder at Johnny’s reflection, much bigger than Mark’s, and in Mark’s head, a sudden image appears of Johnny naked and panting, moaning maybe, while grinning up at strong, beefy guys manhandling him. It’s unexpected, but not exactly unwanted, Mark determines.

“But you don’t mind, do you?” Johnny continues, fortunately interrupting Mark’s newest fantasy before it gets out of hand. “If I went out with your body dressed like this?”

“Um…” Mark takes another look at himself, Johnny turning towards him. “I mean, like, they’re my own clothes… I guess it’s fine. It doesn’t—it doesn’t look, like, _bad_ , I guess? I don’t know, dude, you know more about this than I do." He still trusts Johnny enough to believe that he wouldn't make a complete fool out of Mark in public. If they actually were to go out in public. "Wait, hold up—you wanna go _out_?"

"Just to the supermarket, we really need to do some groceries. At least onions and toilet paper, we need that, like, today. And maybe like, some fresh vegetables or something."

"Oh, shit, it was my turn yesterday, wasn't it?" Mark usually tries to stick to the schedule they made ages ago, but he has completely forgotten about it this weekend.

"It's fine." Johnny laughs. "What do they call this? Force majeure?"

“Uh, I don’t know…” French is not Mark's strong suit. Or law. He takes another look at himself in front of him. Maybe the outfit really doesn’t look that bad. If they happen to run into any acquaintances, Mark looking like he’s dressed particularly well for a change probably wouldn’t do any harm. “I guess we should go to the supermarket, yeah.”

Mark lets Johnny take a quick inventory check, and gets his wallet and backpack ready. It looks nice and sunny outside, it might be good to not stay holed up in the apartment all weekend. He already does that enough, nowadays.

Their face masks are dangling from a free hook, and Mark looks at them while Johnny picks out a pair of Mark’s shoes. The old lady at the end of the hallway made the masks for them, and Johnny's has daisies printed on it, a pretty floral pattern that perfectly matches his sunflower. He told her, and showed her the tattoo, and she even liked it. She's such a cute little old lady. 

Mark's own mask is grey with cartoon pictures of volkswagen vans. Between floral and that, there wasn't much choice.

He reaches out to grab it, but reconsiders. "Um, should we wear our own mask? Or, like, our body's own?"

"Our own, I'd say?" Johnny says. "No, wait, I meant, uh… our body's own, yeah. So it looks like our own. Like this." He hands Mark his daisy printed mask, and takes Mark's for himself, and Mark guesses that makes sense. If their neighbour is watching them from behind her geraniums, this way will probably raise the least amount of suspicion.

“Oh, hang on—” Johnny steps up in his space and Mark stupidly takes one beat too long to remember that's _Johnny_ inside the shell of himself. A whiff of Johnny's woody cologne shocks his heart into overdrive, but by then Johnny's already got his hands on Mark's collar, tightening his grip and pulling him back when Mark tries to avoid the proximity of his very own body. "No, hang on, stay still. You gotta be a convincing Johnny."

“Ah, okay…” Mark laughs nervously and tries to do as his own voice tells him, and Johnny reaches for the strings of his hoodie. He ties them together with precision, making Mark’s fingers move slowly and carefully, and Mark remains still as he looks down at his own concentrated face. His hair is still curly, the shadows of his glasses fall in angular lines over his cheekbones and Johnny has Mark's bottom lip caught between his teeth again.

Looking at his own mouth makes Mark think of this morning. He remembers the way Johnny looked up at him with Mark’s face, asking Mark to kiss him. What if Johnny is expecting them to kiss again? They're so close right now… If Johnny tipped his head back now, would Mark bend forward and close the distance?

No but why the fuck would Johnny want that. Mark almost starts laughing at the ridiculous stuff his mind comes up with, how badly it’s concealing his own desires. 

“There,” Johnny says once he's completed the bow. Mark remains still as Johnny pats both his own cheeks, squishes them together and giggles something about it being cute. One hand lingers to squeeze his neck before he withdraws them completely and steps back, and not once does he suggestively look up at Mark. “Wouldn’t want people to find us out right away, right,” he says.

“Right.” Mark chuckles, more out of habit than anything else, and it hits him that he will actually have to act as Johnny. Would people really be able to tell that he’s not Johnny so easily? He has no idea what he looks like as Johnny, but Johnny in Mark’s body still looks like Mark if you don’t pay too much attention. At least, Mark _thinks_ he does, but does he really know? Does he even know what he looks like in his own body?

“Johnny,” Mark says, Johnny’s voice sounding a little shaky and Mark recognises it because his own voice would’ve sounded like that too. “I can’t do this. I don't wanna go.”

“What?” Mark’s eyebrows make a weird move on his face, like an aborted frown. “We're allowed to enter together, we just both need a cart. It won't be crowded at this time.”

“No, I mean, like. I can’t go outside. I—I don’t. I don’t feel comfortable.” Mark can feel his shoulders growing tense, and he tries his best to keep his throat from closing up. “I can’t do it.”

“Oh. Okay.” Johnny doesn’t push, and takes another step back instead. “I’ll go alone, then. Take a deep breath and calm down a bit, yeah? Is there anything you want me to get you?”

Mark tries to think through the fog inside his head, but it’s not working. Everything is too difficult, he feels like he doesn’t know anything at all anymore. “I—I don’t know. It’s fine...”

The little chuckle in his own voice sounds way more controlled coming from Johnny than it usually sounds to Mark’s own ears, but Mark has no idea if it’s really different, or if it’s just because he’s hearing it differently. “Okay. I’ll be right back,” Johnny says, reaching out once more to pat Mark’s shoulder.

When Johnny’s closed the door behind him, the first thing Mark does is pull at the strings of his hoodie. He’s not Johnny, he’s not trying to be, he _can’t_ be.

He just wants his own body back. He’s been told before that the body is just a vessel for his soul, but now, with inescapable proof that his soul and body are separate, he only feels more like that can’t be right. He feels more connected to his body than ever, and without it, he doesn’t know who he is anymore.

Mark closes his eyes, because even looking at nothing in particular makes it too obvious that everything is different from normal. Johnny’s advice, spoken to him in his own voice, resounds in his head, and Mark tries to remember the breathing exercises he learned from youtube videos. It’s hard, only focusing on his lungs filling and his belly expanding and ignoring the way this, too, feels different, but it does work.

It helps him calm the body he’s in, at least. His mind is still reeling, and the lack of control he has over his life right now is starting to feel paralysing to him.

If only they knew how long this would last, at least then Mark could await that, and have at least some certainty. But they don’t even know if they will ever switch back at all. He wonders how long they would have to wait it out before they should try to get some help, but even then, where do they have to go, to the hospital? Do they see a psychologist? Whatever they do, they’re probably going to end up getting sectioned anyway, because who is going to believe them. ‘ _Flatmates experiencing twin delusions_ ’, Mark can already imagine it.

Mark can't even prove it for himself. All he has is the knowledge that this is definitely not his own body, and the memories of having lived all his life in the body Johnny is in now. And he has Johnny. Johnny also knows what happened to them. It's not just all in Mark's head, there's no way.

Yesterday, Mark thought, or hoped, it was a dream. He wonders if lucid dreams can actually be this elaborate. He's read about it before, people living entire lives only to find out that they had been dreaming it while they were knocked out or something. Maybe that's happening to Mark right now, too. His hands reach up to feel his head for any evidence that he's bumped it, but he feels Johnny's hair instead and of course, this wouldn't even work. It’s not even his own head.

Mark takes another few deep breaths, and figures it might be the best if he tries to distract himself, because mulling things over won’t get him anywhere right now. Since Johnny is doing the groceries he should’ve been doing, maybe Mark can compensate by doing some chores. It might not be his own, but Mark has a perfectly capable body at his disposal. He might just as well make himself useful.

He starts cleaning up, loading the dishwasher, wiping down the counter and the table. The washing machine is not yet done so unfortunately he can't do much with that, but by the time he's checking the display—cautiously turned away from the mirror—he thinks he can cope again and he feels less like a dead weight hanging off Johnny’s arm. They’re in this together, after all.

Johnny isn't back yet, and Mark sits down at his own side of the kitchen table. He plays around with the idea of texting someone for help, or advice, or just for support, but just the thought of having to somehow prove to them that he’s telling the truth, is making his anxiety spike again.

Jaehyun might be their best friend, and Mark is no stranger to asking him for advice on all kinds of things, but Jaehyun is definitely too much of a sceptic to believe anything that can’t be logically explained. And if Mark told Ten, he’s sure Ten would just straight up laugh at him, and then probably pinch his cheek or something. Or, no, wait, that's what he would do to Mark, so he would do that to Johnny now... Mark is not sure how Ten would react to Johnny’s face, but he’d probably still laugh, and roll his eyes. And not so subtly let him know that he thinks they’ve both lost it.

The only people Mark can think of that might believe them, are Yuta and Renjun. Mark actually, hesitantly, opens Renjun’s chat, but he’s unable to do anything. He doesn’t even start typing in fear that he might accidentally press _send_ too soon. Because, even if Renjun wouldn’t immediately toss the notion of something like this being possible, Mark still doesn’t think he would believe them right now.

It’s understandable, though. If anyone else had told Mark this two days ago, he would’ve had a hard time believing them, too.

He ends up scrolling through the messages Donghyuck sent him this weekend instead, looking at the memes Donghyuck has taken upon himself to keep Mark updated with. They’re pretty funny, even if Mark doesn’t understand them all.

It’s also kind of funny, if Mark thinks about it, how it’s through Johnny that they’ve been getting closer again. Maybe kind of ironic, almost. They met at orientation week, now nearly three years ago, and Mark remembers how quickly they became good friends. But he also remembers part of the reason why they grew apart, even though it pains him to admit it. It was because Donghyuck confessed to Mark that he might have a bit of a crush on him. And Mark didn’t _want_ things to become awkward and uncomfortable, he really didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did anyway. Because back then, the idea of another guy being into him made Mark feel very weird.

He wonders now, what would’ve happened if he had given it a chance at all. He still doesn’t think he’s into someone like Donghyuck, but things could’ve gone very differently.

Mark couldn’t possibly tell Donghyuck what’s going on with him right now though, even aside from whether he would believe them or not. Donghyuck might be friends with both Johnny and Mark now, separately, but Mark feels like he can’t bring up Johnny around Donghyuck. It makes him feel like a traitor or something, it just feels wrong.

Still, if they don't change back, Mark might have to tell him anyway. They'd either have to tell everyone, or tell no one and live their lives as each other... Mark shakes his head aggressively, and opens the tiktok compilation video again.

Johnny comes back with a pack of toilet paper under one arm, and a whole watermelon under the other. “Just trying to think like you,” he says with a grin, and although it’s upsetting to hear him say that, because it’s exactly what Mark doesn’t want him to do, Mark can’t be mad because Johnny is clearly joking, and also, Johnny brought a whole watermelon, just for him.

Mark eats way too much watermelon. They cut the whole thing open and toss half in the freezer, but there's still a lot. Whatever, Mark decides, it's mostly just water anyway. He's just hydrating.

“Thanks for getting me this,” he says, unable to look up at Johnny because he feels too vulnerable, showing weakness, even though he knows that's stupid and he also knows Johnny can tell whenever he’s not doing well, anyway.

“I got it for me, too,” Johnny says, but his side of the melon has significantly less spoonfuls taken from it. “You gotta stop thinking so much, Mark.”

“I _know_.” Mark sticks his spoon in the melon’s flesh and starts rubbing his face, only to forcefully remove his hand from Johnny’s cheek again. He knows Johnny is right, but that doesn’t make it any easier. “But I can’t just—I can’t just _stop_ thinking?”

“But that’s all you can do, just accept it. I know it's not nice, it makes me scared too, but being anxious about it won't change anything.”

Mark sighs. Johnny makes it sound so easy, and the fact that Mark can’t do that is frustrating him even more. "But like, what if—like, how do we know this is even real, though?"

"What?" Johnny laughs a little.

"How do we know this is real?" Mark repeats. He stares at his own face, different from how he sees it in the mirror but still undeniably his. Even if his cheek mole is on the other side. "Like, it just doesn't make sense."

"I don't know, Mark," Mark himself says back to him, except Mark is pretty sure it's not himself because he would never be able to be so casual and relaxed about the predicament they're in.

Because he just has no way of knowing whether this is real. It might seem like he's sitting here, talking to Johnny, but how does he know he's not made it up in his head, imagining Johnny here. He might have never been living with Johnny in the first place, maybe he's made up all his friends his entire life. "Do you—do you think I should check myself into a hospital?"

Johnny laughs loudly now. "It's really not that serious," he says, because of course Mark's delusion would tell him his delusions are real. Mark feels his shoulders twitch, and the smile on his own face softens. "Really, stop thinking so much."

It would be a remarkable feat, though, if Mark's brain was really able to come up with such a convincing illusion, when it feels like he doesn't even have enough available space left in his brain to think straight. It feels like he’s been reduced to nothing more than anxiety and horniness this weekend, and it’s fucking him up. “Trust me, I really wish I could stop.”

He nearly starts crying again when he realises how close they are getting to Monday, and it takes him a while to see that Johnny is right, when he tells Mark they should just take it day by day. It’s true that they should be able to avoid any serious obstacles, for now. With all of Mark’s courses being online at the moment, no one needs to know it’s not completely him behind his computer. And Johnny insists he can work from home at least for a while.

“And who knows,” he continues, forcing the watermelon rind into their bin, “maybe we’re back tomorrow. Actually, I’ve got some other ideas that I think might work, but…"

He trails off, and leaves Mark hanging. He’s clearly not feeling the same sense of urgency as Mark does. "Tell me?"

“Nah, it's kinda…” Johnny laughs, in a way Mark doesn't think his own voice has ever sounded before. It’s not quite mischievous, but still like he's hiding something. “I'll tell you later.”

“Why, what is it?” Mark is starting to get impatient. He doesn’t like knowing that he’s being kept out of something. “If it works, we should try it right now?”

Johnny continues laughing, and doesn’t budge. “No, you’re not ready for that right now, trust me.”

“Dude how am I supposed to trust you if you won’t even tell me?”

“Seriously, just trust me. Hey, do you want my mom’s kkori gomtang for dinner? I already took it out of the freezer, so if you don’t want it, you’ll have to make your own food.”

Mark's spoon hits the sink a bit harder than he means to, when he puts it down. “Don’t just change the subject!"

“You’re not in the right headspace to receive this information,” Johnny says, and it sounds like he’s referencing something but Mark wouldn’t know what. It just makes Mark feel more annoyed, because this is not the first time Johnny has done this shit. It sometimes feels like Johnny actually likes keeping Mark in the unknown on purpose, like he gets a kick out of talking about things Mark doesn’t know.

But Mark doesn’t like arguing. Especially not if it’s with friends, and _especially_ not when he knows he’s already tired and upset, and the stupidest little things set him off. He doesn’t want to say things he doesn’t mean, things he’ll definitely regret, so it’s better to just stay quiet. “Whatever,” he huffs, and he doesn’t wait for Johnny’s reaction, turning away and heading to his bedroom.

Johnny’s fingers hurt too much to keep playing guitar, and Mark doesn’t really want to be reminded that these aren’t his hands, either, that he doesn’t have calluses on his fingertips anymore, but instead on the cushiony part right at the base of his fingers. He doesn’t want to think about it.

He ends up sitting in front of his laptop, turning it on so he doesn’t need to look at Johnny’s reflection, and it’s then that Mark remembers, thankfully in time, that he still has an essay to turn in at midnight. Having to email his professor that he forgot because he switched bodies with his flatmate probably wouldn’t have worked very well.

It keeps him distracted until he starts smelling beef and broth, and Mark realises he will have to arrange his own food tonight. He can’t exactly come out of his room now and start casually eating Johnny’s food. Johnny probably didn’t prepare any for him, anyway. And if Mark joins him in the kitchen right now, he should at least apologise or something, let Johnny know they’re fine. But Mark is not sure how to do that, or if Johnny would let him get away with acting like nothing happened, so he decides it would be best to just wait until Johnny is done eating.

Johnny is much nicer than Mark probably deserves, though. Just minutes after Mark has made his decision, he hears him call Mark’s name. “Come get some food!”

There’s a chance that Johnny didn’t even realise his joking around made Mark upset. It was a pretty stupid thing to be upset about anyway, Mark knows Johnny doesn’t mean anything with it. Or at least, Mark assumes he doesn’t. He looks at Johnny, using Mark’s voice to hum along with his lo-fi playlist as he fills two bowls with rice. Johnny knows him way too well, if he actually wanted to be mean, he would know how to do it.

Instead, he’s setting one bowl down at Mark’s side of the table, and one at his own, and then divides the soup evenly, and makes Mark feel kind of bad for not having helped in any way. “Come on,” Johnny says, with a short nod towards Mark. “Have something to eat.”

Ah, that’s right. At this moment, Johnny is not just being generous towards Mark, he’s doing it for himself, too. Johnny would probably rather Mark fills Johnny’s stomach with a home-cooked meal, something with actual vegetables, and not the frozen pizza Mark would’ve had to go for.

Johnny’s mom is a really good cook. Nearly as good as Mark’s own mom, in Mark’s opinion. Maybe the flavour is amplified because he’s tasting it with Johnny’s tongue, but after just one spoonful Mark has already forgotten all the previous hesitation he had about eating this. “Yo, this is mad good!”

“Reheated by yours truly,” Johnny says, grinning proudly, and Mark laughs.

“No but seriously, tell your mother this is really good. Thank her for me.”

“Do it yourself. I know you have her number, I know she sends you happy birthday and happy holidays messages,” is Johnny’s chuckling response, and Mark laughs again, because that’s true. He thought it was a bit weird at first, none of his other friends’ parents ever did that, but maybe that just comes with living together. And if he has to be honest, Mark actually kind of likes it.

Mark wasn’t really sure what to expect at all, when he moved in with Johnny to help fill an empty bedroom and help him share the rent. He was glad to be out of that dorm, but he had never shared a flat with anyone. Jaehyun couldn’t really help him, because when he moved, he did it together with friends. And of course, Johnny and Mark were already something like friends at that time, too, but Mark was still expecting to divide the cupboards equally, and have all their meals separately.

He’s so glad it wasn’t like that, though. Even excluding the fact that it's Johnny, and that he and Johnny ended up getting along even better then Mark expected, or dared to hope for, he just loves the domestic, comforting vibe of sharing meals together. Sitting at that long plywood table at the dorm’s kitchen, three chairs away from people he knew by name and nothing more, just wasn’t the same.

Although right now it obviously isn't really the same either. And despite how calm he is under the whole thing, Johnny must notice it too. "You know," he says, setting an elbow on the table and resting Mark's head on his hand, which is something Mark immediately realises his mom would’ve never allowed Mark to do. "It's kinda like when you're sitting in a café at one of those tables along the window, and when you look up, you see your own reflection. Don't you think?"

"Um... I don't know, dude, I'm pretty used to my reflection following my every move…"

Johnny starts laughing and quickly copies Mark's posture, but just one glance down tells Mark that the hand he's currently holding his spoon with is definitely not a mirror image from his own in front of him.

And with his sleeves pushed up, Mark notices how well he can see the muscles of Johnny's forearm shift under his skin every time he rotates his wrist. He gets distracted doing it, until Johnny snaps him out of it when he mutters an amused "Soup's getting cold." Mark can’t do anything but laugh awkwardly, glancing up to check if Johnny thought he was being weird.

That doesn’t seem to be the case, thankfully, and Mark _wasn’t_ being weird, it was just fascinating to see. 

They continue eating in a comfortable silence, and Mark is just mixing the last bit of his rice in his soup, when Johnny chuckles quietly, like he’s laughing at a private joke. Mark looks up at him, hoping Johnny’s going to share it with him.

“You know, I still think that maybe it's really your dick that caused all this. Like, what else could it be?”

Mark doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. "Dude, _no_ —” He can't control his bout of nervous, high pitched laughter. “That's—that's really not it?"

"Why not? It could be! _Anything_ is possible.” Johnny laughs at him. “Did you lie in bed, touching yourself and wishing you were me?”

“What—no! That's—why would I do that! I told you, I didn't even—” Mark flounders, for some reason really unable to talk about masturbation with Johnny. But he’s not lying, maybe once he thought what Johnny just said was what he wanted, in a way, but he can’t possibly convince himself of that anymore. “I really don’t mind being myself…”

“You didn’t? Never wished to be inside my body?” Johnny has some gall, pretending to be disappointed. Then he gasps, and starts grinning, and it gets even worse. “Or did you wish for _me_ inside of _you_? Was _that_ what you were thinking about?”

"Ahah?" Mark nearly chokes on his spit, completely flustered. Maybe Johnny doesn’t mean anything with it, but it sure sounds a lot like he knows exactly what he’s suggesting.

But _did he_ , though? Mark needs to go back with his thoughts to Friday night, to remember what he was thinking about. But even if he did, there’s no way that should’ve resulted in this situation. Why now, and not all those other times? But Mark can’t tell Johnny that.

Mark struggles to find something to rest his gaze on, accidentally looking at his own eyes and finding Johnny’s piercing stare on him. What the fuck, Mark really doesn’t know what to do anymore. He’s is not unfamiliar with Johnny's weirdly sexual jokes, but they've never been so explicitly about _them_. Who the fuck even says things like that, what does it even mean?

Mark has so many questions, but he knows he should not be thinking about it right now, that definitely won't do any good. If he gets up and leaves now, it’s gonna be hella suspicious, but he’s not sure if he should be staying here, Johnny’s presence suffocating him, burning him alive. Making his blood pound. Mark awkwardly crosses his legs and clenches his hands into tight fists under the table, forcing himself to keep breathing and stay calm. “I—I didn’t think anything, dude, I… I told you, I didn’t even do anything… It’s just like a fluke or something, a glitch, I don’t know.”

Johnny hums. “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” he agrees casually, like he didn’t say all of the stuff he just said. “Who knows, right?”

“Yeah…” Mark tries to laugh in a way that doesn’t give away how heated he’s feeling. “Who knows.”

Mark is kind of glad that Johnny doesn’t wear Mark’s jeans and striped shirt again after showering, because seeing him parade around with Mark’s body dressed up the way he would do as himself was kind of weird. He’s back in his hoodie and sweats now, knees drawn up and nibbling a chocolate chip cookie as he scrolls through netflix recommendations. He’s still acting as he normally does, but at least now he looks cozy and casual and not like he’s checking out his dress-up handiwork in every reflective surface he comes across.

Mark tries to get Johnny’s legs on the couch as well, folding the long limbs up completely, but it’s not really working. If he wraps Johnny’s arms around his knees, he thinks he can feel Johnny’s abs pressed to his thighs. Definitely his pecs.

Keeping his feet on the floor is gonna have to do. Mark tries to redirect his attention to the movie summaries Johnny is reading out.

It works, and Mark doesn’t linger on Johnny’s physical form right here within Mark’s reach in such a way. That is, until Mark makes the mistake of wiping some cookie crumbs off his chest, and looking down while doing so, and he really doesn’t know why, it must be because the whole universe is working against him, but he can see the shape of Johnny’s nipple through his hoodie. And what’s even worse is, he can feel it too, when he swipes his hand over it once more without thinking.

This was a bad idea. Mark has been feeling rather worked up since dinner earlier, and he _knows_ he should’ve just left the room, instead of thinking that he could power through it. So what if Johnny had figured him out right away, it would have been miles better than this right now.

Because he can feel Johnny’s dick start to stir, and from there on it’s a downwards spiral he immediately gets sucked into. It’s slowly filling out, blood pulsing, and even though Mark tries to stop it, he can’t. He sits paralysed, completely frozen except for the racing of his heart and the slow rise of Johnny’s dick 

It’s already too late to get up and leave, now. He can’t hide it under the soft fabric of Johnny’s wide leg trousers, and he highly doubts he can be as casual about it as Johnny. A glance at the tv tells Mark Johnny is still busy trying to find something to watch, and Mark quickly grabs the pillow to his side, to cover his lap until he has managed to will it away, or come up with a foolproof plan to get out of this room.

But after minutes, nothing is changing. It’s only getting worse, even. It feels like the sensitivity of Johnny’s skin has increased by tenfold and it’s not helping at all, and Johnny sitting right next to him isn’t helping either, so close Mark thinks he can feel the heat of his own body. Mark feels Johnny’s fingers twitch around the edge of the pillow, and he looks down to make sure it’s still in place and hiding everything.

Or maybe, Mark wonders, he could subtly grind against it, without Johnny noticing. Just to take the edge off.

But Johnny notices before Mark even has the chance to do anything. “Mark…” he says, and Mark turns to him, sees the amused glint in his eyes and the way his gaze flits down to the pillow and back up again, and Mark just knows that Johnny knows. “What are you thinking about?”

Unfortunately, Mark’s first reaction is a distressed laugh. There goes his chance at denying it. “Nothing!” he tries to say adamantly, but he’s aware Johnny is not going to believe him, despite it being pretty much the truth. He wasn’t really thinking, it just happened like this, it’s beyond his control. Fuck, if Mark thinks too much it’s not good for him, but if he doesn’t think, things still go wrong.

Johnny's smirk starts growing. “Were you thinking about what I said earlier?”

“No, I wasn’t!” But he might start, now. _Fuck_. Mark turns back to the tv, but that doesn’t change the fact that Johnny is sitting next to him, watching Mark being turned on in Johnny’s body, hiding Johnny’s hard dick under a leaf patterned pillow. And now probably thinking about Mark thinking about Johnny fucking him. And he most definitely must’ve seen the way Johnny's whole body just twitched. “Let’s just—let’s just watch something. It’ll go down,” Mark lies.

But Johnny doesn’t pick anything, and Mark can feel his eyes burning on him. And he also feels Johnny’s dick throbbing, he feels the pressure, how full it is, straining against the cotton of Johnny’s boxer briefs. There's no way he's gonna be able to get it to go down.

Johnny snickers. “If you wanna, like, rub one out, that’s fine.”

“ _Dude_ —” Mark abruptly turns to Johnny, and he really shouldn’t move too much, because it’s giving him friction where he doesn’t need it. “No way. It—it will pass.”

He’s unable to look himself directly in the eye, and he thinks it’s not right of Johnny to make his face look so innocent, while talking about things like this. “Seriously, just do it. My balls are gonna feel fucked if you don’t.”

Johnny doesn't need to tell him that. Mark's already experienced what it feels like in Johnny's body. What he's probably gonna be feeling again, just like Johnny said. “I know," he forces himself to say, before he can reconsider and chicken out again.

“You know?” Johnny huffs a surprised laugh. Mark keeps his eyes fixed on his glass of water on the coffee table, but in the edges of his vision he can see Johnny turn on the couch, towards him, leaning forward with one arm over the backrest. “Do you, now?”

“It was just, I—um, yeah, blue balls, I—” he stumbles over the words, still trying to leave out the part why he had blue balls. Along with pooling in his groin, Mark can now also feel the heat crawling up his neck.

“Oh, really?” Johnny chuckles. He sounds almost smug. “What did you do?”

“I—oh my god...” Jesus Christ. He should’ve maybe just not told Johnny at all. But it’s not like he can lie, either, he has to be truthful to Johnny. “I just... I rubbed against a pillow until I came, I—I didn’t want to touch.”

Johnny outright laughs at him, eyes going to Mark’s lap again. “And you were gonna do that again, now?”

“No! Dude, not with _this_ pillow!” Mark should think before he speaks. “I mean, I wasn’t going to at all!”

He thinks maybe Johnny is trying to fluster him on purpose. Maybe trying to find out how far he can go, how far Mark is willing to let him go. Thing is, though, Mark is entirely unsure. But he feels like he is willing to take it however far Johnny is going to take it.

Which is apparently even further. “You can do it, though, right now if you want, I don’t mind. You can use my hand.”

“Dude, are you—isn't that like, weird…”

“It's my own dick, I've seen it before,” Johnny says, and while that must be true, this is still very different. Mark splutters, and his blood keeps pounding in Johnny’s dick, somehow even getting worse now despite the humiliation he’s feeling.

“Or do you need me to do it for you?” Johnny continues with a wicked grin, and if he’s going to go on like this, he won’t need to do anything, Mark might very well shoot in his pants. He can't breathe properly, can't think, his chest feels tight under the weight of Johnny's eyes on him, even if they're actually his own.

“Oh, no—that’s—I can do it myself,” Mark mutters in a daze, the words not really registering until he hears them out loud in Johnny’s voice. But he’s already said them now, and it seems like they’re actually, seriously going to do this.

He looks down at his lap, at Johnny’s hands in tight fists around the corners of the pillow, and he slowly drags it away. Like he thought, the pants don’t really hide anything. He looks at the obvious shape of Johnny’s erection, and back up at himself, unable to form any words.

"Go ahead," Johnny says, smiling like he’s urging him on, or maybe Mark is imagining it, but the prospect of getting to touch, to feel it, convinces him to reach for the waistband of Johnny’s pants.

Mark can’t believe this is actually happening. Maybe it really is all a fantasy. Johnny is not doing anything to stop him, and Mark doesn’t stop. He undoes the button and unzips the fly and without thinking too much, reaches into his underwear and pulls Johnny’s cock free.

It’s hot and hard in his hand, and it feels so satisfying to finally have it touched like this, skin on skin, the way he’s been craving. Mark hears Johnny’s sharp intake of breath, and his cock twitches in response before Mark realises that was actually himself. He can’t care, though, too distracted by the sensations he’s feeling, the sight in his lap.

Of course Johnny would have a fucking nice dick, too. Mark strokes it in his loose grip, feeling how it tapers slightly towards the glans, thumbing over the veins twisting under the skin. A slight tremor makes its way through Johnny’s muscles as Mark savors the slide of his fist.

It’s good, it’s so fucking good, but Johnny is next to him, watching him, looking at the way Mark is touching Johnny’s cock, and Mark’s hand falters. Despite how hard and desperate he is, it feels like he’s suddenly suffering from some kind of performance anxiety, whatever confidence he had slipping away from him. He's probably not nearly as good at pleasuring Johnny, as Johnny himself is.

Johnny leans closer, and Mark, drawn to the movement, makes eye contact with him. Johnny is staring at him way too attentively, and it’s making Mark even more nervous.

“Does it freak you out,” Johnny asks, again with a grin that looks very uncanny on Mark’s face. “Touching another guy’s dick?”

“ _No_ —” Mark starts laughing nervously once more. He’s not sure where to look anymore, Johnny’s gaze making him feel way too jittery, but staring at Johnny’s dick is also starting to feel wrong again.

And, Mark realises, now Johnny might be thinking it’s the fact that it’s another guy’s dick that’s making things hard for Mark. Well, it _is_ , in a way, but not in the way Johnny is thinking. “No, that’s not it! I don’t—I don’t, um. I don’t mind dicks…” That’s about as much as an admission Mark is able to give Johnny right now. “It’s—it’s just, it’s _yours_ , and you’re, like—you’re like, right here, dude…”

“So touching _my_ dick freaks you out?” 

Johnny might be mocking him now, but Mark is still immediately defensive. “No! I mean, well—maybe?” Mark is around 100 percent sure that Johnny knows that’s not it, he can tell by the way Johnny is asking. It’s funny, hearing his own voice ask him that, when his own dick was in his own hands every day, before all of this happened. Mark spontaneously starts giggling again. “Dude, I just—”

He’s completely freezing up now, and Johnny manages to fluster him even more. “Let me.”

Mark gapes at him, his brain taking a while to catch up. But his hands are already letting go, making room for Johnny.

Johnny shuffles closer, pressing Mark’s knees against his own thighs, his arm now somewhere behind Mark. He’s so close Mark can smell his body wash, the citrusy scent that always lingers whenever Mark takes a shower right after Johnny. It makes Mark’s traitorous mind remember the times he beat his meat thinking about Johnny showering, and it’s definitely not doing anything to help clear up the haze in Mark’s head.

With his free hand, Johnny grabs his own hard cock. Mark tips his head back helplessly, trying to stifle a gasp and keep his face straight because it’s just one touch, it’s stupid to be this affected, and it’s _his own hand_ for fuck’s sake. But still, it’s Johnny, giving him a handjob right now and it feels so fucking good.

“Oh, your hands are smaller than mine,” Johnny says, and Mark really needs to look down again. Johnny is using his own dick as a criterion to compare size, he’s so familiar with seeing his own hand around his cock that he can immediately tell, and somehow, that’s making Mark’s blood pound even harder.

“They are,” Mark mumbles, and he didn’t need Johnny’s dick to know that, but he can see it, too, his own fingers much smaller around it than Johnny’s just now. It sounds pretty ridiculous, and Mark might be a bit infatuated, but he thinks Johnny’s cock looks so good encircled by his own hand, the way it’s flushed and curving up a bit, his slit leaking precum, the way Johnny uses Mark’s fingers to spread it around.

Mark drops his head on the backrest again when Johnny starts jerking him off in earnest. Through Johnny’s eyelashes, he can see himself, eyes locked on Johnny’s cock, confidently touching it, getting him off. Mark can’t decide if this is what it’s like to receive a handjob from Johnny, or how Johnny masturbates.

He accidentally groans out loud when Johnny starts twisting his hand, hearing Johnny’s voice out loud almost making him do it again, and Johnny laughs a little. “Good, right?”

“Yeah,” Mark pants, flexing Johnny’s thighs and forcing his hips to stay still. He’d better stay quiet if he doesn’t want to come like, right now.

“Hang on—” Johnny opens the long fly of his pants all the way and works them further down, and orders Mark to spread his legs more, and Mark follows him without even thinking about it. It gives Johnny access to his balls and he rolls them around in his warm palm before moving down to rub his taint.

Mark feels that instantly. Johnny knows exactly what spot to reach, how to touch him, and it’s so fucking good. A jolt of electricity shoots through his entire body, balls contracting, and Mark gasps.

He thinks he recognises the feeling from yesterday, or maybe he’s not thinking at all anymore, but he knows he's rapidly approaching his climax. He can hear himself breathing hard, and he can’t control the way his hips keep bucking up, and he’s really not going to last. “Close, I think,” he mumbles.

“I know,” comes Johnny’s answer, his hand speeding up even more and Mark grabs onto the edge of the couch, body locking up as Johnny drags him over the edge. He comes hard, shooting all over himself, Johnny working every load out of him.

He doesn’t bother trying to stay quiet when he’s coming down, panting audibly, and hearing Johnny’s voice like that makes it feel even better. Johnny gently strokes him through it in a way that is exactly right, and Mark groans.

“So, did that feel good for you?”

Mark is not sure why Johnny even needs to ask, it must be pretty obvious. “Yeah,” he groans, slowly getting back down. He sucks in a few deep breaths, for once not caring about what he looks like to Johnny at all, and blinks open his eyes. “Dude, you come like, a lot.”

He came all over Johnny's hoodie. He sees Johnny wipe Mark's hands on it, too, and distantly, Mark registers that maybe Johnny doesn't care that much about cum stains in his clothes.

Johnny chuckles. “Yeah, I know.” He sounds strangely out of breath despite Mark being the one whose chest is still heaving. Then, he asks, “You like that?”

“Uh—” Mark likes it so fucking much. Maybe it's a bit dirty, Mark feels like it might be as he stares down at the ribbons of white slowly dripping down his front, but he absolutely doesn't mind being covered in Johnny's cum. He exhales a stuttering laugh, Johnny’s voice extra breathy and low and it’s still doing things to him, even though he literally just came. He can’t catch a break at all, it seems. "I—I guess, yeah. Maybe?”

He looks up at Johnny when he hears his own voice call his name, and he thinks Johnny is about to make fun of him, or even worse, get mad, or tell him it’s weird, but the expression on his own face catches him completely off guard. Johnny looks almost lecherous as he looks at Mark, gaze dark and heavy.

“Mark,” he says again. “I really want you to fuck me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/frxdmr)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a test in patience for you guys :)

“Mark,” Johnny says. “I really want you to fuck me.”

Mark can’t help it, but the first thought that goes through his head, is: couldn’t you have asked me that before I came? His reflexive frustration fades, though, when the actual meaning of those words starts sinking in. Because that’s _Johnny_ , asking Mark to _fuck him_ , and he’s asking that _while their bodies are switched_. Automatically, Mark starts to laugh, just staring dumbly at his own face. There’s no way this is actually happening. “You want _me_ to—to— _like this_? Are—are you actually for real right now?”

“Yeah, I am.” Johnny pushes Mark’s hair away from his forehead, and his tongue wets his lips, and there’s really no fucking way this is actually happening. He looks like he’s absolutely serious, and really into it, too. “Like, how many chances do you get, to sleep with yourself?

“Dude, are you, like, drunk right now? Are you—” Mark’s eyes dart around, unable to find anything to settle on. He keeps looking back at Johnny, seeing his own face look back at him like that, way too intensely and not even remotely looking like he’s kidding, and Mark giggles nervously. “Dude, what the fuck is going on…” It’s one thing for Johnny to give a handjob to his own body to prevent blue balls after Mark irresponsibly made his dick get hard, but this is definitely a whole other thing.

Johnny laughs, and Mark’s voice sounds low and kind of husky and nothing indicates that he’s messing with Mark. “Come on, you can’t tell me you didn’t think about it.”

Mark didn’t, actually. For him it was all about Johnny. And he's not about to share that, he really doesn’t think he should, but then again, Johnny literally just said that he wants to be fucked by himself, by his own likeness. Mark saying he wants to be fucked by Johnny, too, wouldn’t be that far out.

Jesus christ, Johnny said he wants to _fuck_. He wants to sleep with Mark, and Mark knows that it’s different now, but still—it’s a lot to process. Mark can sense that Johnny is about to start laughing at the dumb faces he must be making, but he just has a lot of trouble formulating any kind of answer. Johnny wants to be fucked while in Mark’s body, and he wants it to be done while looking at himself. Like looking into a mirror while getting off, but a step further. _Many_ steps further. And all the while with your very flatmate and friend inhabiting your body?

And Mark is still in a post-orgasm daze. He can’t think straight at all, in any way, and he knows, somewhere in the back of his head, that there are a lot of conditions that make this a not so good idea, but Johnny asked him to _fuck_ , and there’s not much else Mark can focus on at the moment.

He can’t resist the urge to look down at his own body, trying to find proof that Johnny's not joking right now. It’s hard to tell with the way his sweats are creasing, but Mark is pretty sure his own dick is hard, _Johnny_ is hard, turned on after jerking himself off, after thinking about them having sex. And Mark hears him chuckle, and he grabs Mark’s dick through his sweatpants, and because they’re so close, Mark can hear Johnny’s breath hitch, or was that his own? Mark doesn’t know anymore, he doesn’t know anything anymore and Johnny is absolutely driving him crazy.

He looks up again, at his face, and Johnny looks back at him with a smirk, and he fucking winks.

“For real? You want to—you want to have sex, with me, like this,” Mark asks again, just making sure that he’s not misunderstanding whatever the fuck is going on right now, “and you want to be... _you_ want to be, the, um. The—the—” Mark is floundering, he can't even say it. “On the receiving end?”

“Um, yeah?” If Mark is not mistaken, Johnny is actually starting to sound impatient. He runs a hand through Mark’s hair again, fingers untangling what’s left of his curls. “Mark, you weren’t given all this ass to not bottom,” he says like it’s a given, and Mark wasn’t necessarily going to _not_ bottom, but he’s not sure how to say that right now.

Instead, he says, “But your—your butt is also nice, right?” Mark has to admit he hasn’t paid that much attention to that particular part of Johnny’s body, but it's always felt good under his hand whenever he slapped it without thinking, and he’s definitely heard others talk about it before.

“Mark...” Johnny starts, shaking his head like he’s disappointed. “No. No, Mark. It’s really not comparable. You really have no idea what you look like, do you?”

“Um. I mean, I’m like, seeing it now?”

Johnny turns around on his knees to lean over the backrest, and arches Mark’s back until his behind is sticking out obscenely. “Then tell me, wouldn’t you want to fuck this?”

Mark splutters. How can Johnny just so casually ask Mark if Mark wants to fuck himself? And then he realises what Johnny really said, and _holy fucking shit_. Mark’s breath gets caught in his throat as he struggles to voice his thoughts. “You mean you—you mean _you_ want to fuck it?”

“I mean, if I had the chance.”

Mark’s brain is short-circuiting again. He feels like he’s glued to the couch, pants still undone and Johnny's cum drying on his sweater, completely at loss for words and Johnny said he wanted to _fuck_ him. And all this time, when Johnny talked about Mark’s butt, it was _like this_? “Oh—oh my god.”

If Johnny can tell that Mark is getting hard again, he’s doing Mark a massive favour by not calling him out and making fun of him, because Mark already knows that embarrassment would only make it worse. “You _would_?” he asks again.

Johnny laughs at him. “Don’t act like that’s so weird,” he says, and maybe he knows Mark only needs a little more persuasion, because he adds, “Come on, we might just as well go all the way right now, I think.” And Mark doesn’t know how he does it, or maybe it’s simply because he can’t think with his lust-addled brain, but Johnny sounds so convincing, and Mark just can’t think of any reason to decline. It’s not like he didn’t actually want to sleep with Johnny in the first place, anyway.

And then, like he hadn’t been doing enough already, Johnny pushes Mark’s hair back again, his eyelids heavy and his voice back to kind of low and grainy as he calls Mark’s name again, and Mark _knows_ he’s doing it on purpose, but that doesn’t mean it’s not effective. “I want you to fuck me with my own cock. Can you do that for me, Mark?”

Mark can’t fucking breathe. He can’t think at all anymore, and maybe Johnny’s blood never made it all the way back to his brain, but it’s definitely pooling south again, pounding hot in Johnny’s dick, and Mark just really can’t say no.

He lets Johnny wipe him down with paper towels and follows him to Johnny’s bedroom (because, “I have everything there”, and he really does, getting lube and a condom from a drawer of his nightstand. The very nightstand he ordered from Ikea a couple months ago, and Mark helped him assemble, and now Johnny keeps _sex stuff_ in there, condoms and lube and Mark couldn’t get a good look at it but there were more things as well, and Mark’s mind is going wild imagining what else Johnny might keep in it) and Mark only pauses to think when he’s at the foot end of Johnny’s bed, watching Johnny get comfortable. He’s at the same place where Mark woke up yesterday, Mark’s body already undressed, and Mark wonders if perhaps he’s been dreaming all this time after all, if dreams can really be this elaborate.

“Do you really—” he starts, an awkward giggle disrupting his words. “Dude… I can’t believe you really want to fuck yourself…”

“What’s so hard to believe? Isn’t it hot, don’t you think it’s hot?” his own mouth, his own voice says, and it’s such a strange experience, almost starting to make Mark doubt his own thoughts. If Mark looks down at himself like this, his own eyes dark like that, his small mouth curling into a slight smile, thighs spread a little and his cock hard in a pair of Johnny’s boxer briefs, it definitely looks like Mark himself thinks it’s hot. 

And he guesses, maybe it kind of is. It’s not like Mark has any kind of problem with masturbation. And in a way, this is kind of like an elevated version of it, even if it’s not actually masturbation at all because that’s not himself but _Johnny_. “Um. I guess—I guess it is, kinda?” Johnny wants Mark to touch him, to _fuck_ him, and Mark still hasn’t recovered from that at all.

He remains indecisive in front of Johnny’s bed, and Johnny gets up on his knees, moving towards him. “Then don’t just stand there,” he says, and he reaches out and strokes Mark’s fingers down his own abdomen, starting at his nipple and skimming down to his hip. Mark jolts at the first contact, stomach pulling in, Johnny's dick twitching, body giving him away whether he wants it to or not. 

Mark swallows back a curse, his inhale sharp. Johnny knows his own body so fucking well, it’s not fair.

Johnny laughs at him, and pokes his own belly button. “Come on, get on the bed.” He abruptly drops his hand, then. “Wait, you’ve had sex before, right?”

Mark doesn’t know why Johnny is even asking that, when he knows for a fact that Johnny accidentally heard him once. If anything, it was Johnny who made sure Mark didn’t forget about that instance, and made Mark unable to ever invite anyone over unless he was absolutely sure Johnny wasn’t gonna be home. “Um, yeah?”

He’s not a virgin, but he’s never _been_ fucked. And he had kind of hoped, or more like, imagined, the first time would be with Johnny, but not like _this_. He would've liked to be able to feel it himself.

“Just making sure,” Johnny says, his laugh kind of teasing, but Mark’s mind is already onto different things, doubt starting to creep up on him.

“Wait, but like, are you—are you sure it’s gonna be okay? With… with my…” With his virgin hole, _jesus christ_. “My body?”

“It’s gonna be fine.” Mark’s voice replies, containing more confidence than Mark could imagine having in this situation. “I know what I’m doing, I’ve done this before.”

“Yeah, but—um.” Mark doesn’t know why he’s so embarrassed to tell Johnny he’s a bottom virgin (or a gay virgin altogether) when that must be really obvious already. “Not with _my_ body… And is it gonna be—don’t you need to, like, um. Get it clean?”

“It _is_ clean. I took a shower?”

“No, but, like—”

  
“What?” Mark can tell Johnny is about to tease him again, and he almost regrets even talking about this in the first place. But he just needs to know, if they’re gonna continue. “Mark, are you telling me you don’t clean your butt in the shower?”

“Wait, no, I mean, I—”

“Have you not been cleaning _my_ butt either?” Johnny sits up straighter, sending Mark an exaggerated frown.

“No, I—” So maybe he hasn’t really, but he had a reason for that!

“Gross, Mark!” Johnny exclaims, and Mark starts laughing nervously, uncontrollably.

“I—I can’t just—I mean, no, I _have_ , but like—” He doesn’t mean to, but he gets an extremely vivid, almost palpable vision in his head of running his hand along the cleft of Johnny’s ass, his fingers touching _there_ , and he can’t breathe anymore, face flushing. He squirms, trying to clear his mind. “I just mean like, don’t you—shouldn’t you, like… clean the inside…” He really doesn't want to talk about this at all, he wishes they could've just continued in a horny daze where everything miraculously went right without them needing to communicate. “You know, with my… with my, um, like—my bowel… things?”

Johnny sits back against the headboard of his bed, rearranging the pillows around him. It’s crazy to Mark, to see himself looking like that in Johnny’s bed, so confident, like he belongs there. “I don’t think that’s because of your _body_ , Mark,” Johnny says. “I think that’s just you. I haven’t noticed a thing.”

“Oh… yeah…” Johnny’s probably right. Mark has taken all his stress and anxiety stuff with him to Johnny’s body. “That makes sense…” He looks at Johnny, unable to keep his eyes away. Johnny is petting Mark’s thigh with his hand, slowly rubbing it, his thumb on the sensitive skin inside. He must’ve already figured out that feels kind of good on Mark, and Mark’s stomach clenches with a rush of phantom sensations, goosebumps rising on the skin he’s in. “Dude, I—I can’t believe you’re still, like, _into it_ even though we’re talking about my—about my—you know…”

“ _You_ can’t believe it?” Johnny raises an eyebrow and glances down pointedly. Mark doesn’t need to check, just Johnny mentioning it makes him once again hyper-aware of Johnny’s cock, still kind of heavy and full and now throbbing again. 

“That’s—that’s _different_ , though,” Mark replies without thinking, and he regrets it right away. Because what if Johnny asks him to explain _why_ , and Mark’s gonna have to tell him he’s been in a state of arousal practically this entire weekend.

Johnny doesn’t ask though, thankfully. “If you say so…” he says slowly. And Mark watches as Johnny then makes Mark’s face go through several expressions, before settling on an apprehensive look, his eyes narrowed questioningly. “I’m not into that, though. Just for the record.”

“ _Oh_ —oh my god, no, me—me neither—" Mark starts laughing stupidly hard when he realises what Johnny means, although it might be in part to mask his nerves.

“It’ll be fine, we’ll use a condom. And I put this towel down, just to be sure.”

“ _To be sure_? Why, what—what’s gonna happen?” Mark wishes he’d had the balls to look up this stuff before, so he would’ve been prepared right now and didn’t have to ask Johnny. Because he kind of really wishes he could skip this conversation.

He doesn’t want to think or talk about anything, he wants to just _do_. But then again, he never imagined doing things specifically in this configuration. If he had a choice between sleeping with Johnny like this or in their own bodies, he would’ve chosen the second option, definitely. But Mark knows neither option would’ve existed if they hadn’t swapped bodies. 

Actually, now, they have a clear reason why they’re doing it. If it had happened differently, in their own bodies and in a heat of the moment kind of thing, Mark can only imagine how awkward or uncomfortable it would be after. It might totally mess things up. And now—now things are already messed up anyway. And Johnny really wants this, apparently, and Mark can help him make it happen. And he’d love to do that, to make Johnny feel good.

“Well, nothing’s gonna happen if you’re just gonna stand there,” Johnny interrupts his thoughts. “Mark, you’re thinking too much.”

“Yeah, I know…” Mark feels his shoulders sag. He doesn’t understand how Johnny can tell, how he’s that familiar with his own thinking face, but maybe Mark is just that obvious. He sighs in defeat. “I just—how do you do that? How can you just— _not_ think?”

“What did you say? Sorry, I was busy admiring my abs,” Johnny says, and his joking tone makes Mark laugh, but it might actually very well be the truth. Mark looks down at Johnny’s body, at his stomach that still looks really nice, even after dinner. He flexes, for Johnny, sees ridges appearing, and then gets distracted by the way Johnny’s cock juts out in his underwear. His erection might have flagged a bit, but Mark knows it really won’t take anything to get it to perk up again. Not missing a single beat, Mark’s one-track mind reminds him of yesterday morning, when it hit him that he could see Johnny’s hard cock, and helps by providing images of what he could see _now_ , if they continue.

“See? It’s easy.” Johnny laughs at him, and Mark feels his cheeks heat up again.

“Okay—yeah, okay… maybe you’re right…” Mark stops marveling at Johnny’s body, and looks down at his own. “Are you, um—are you sure it’s gonna be fine?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” The small smile Johnny puts on Mark’s face feels uncomfortably sincere. “Are _you_ sure, though? We don’t—you can just say no.”

“No, that’s—I mean—” For a short moment, Mark plays with the idea of repeating Johnny’s earlier words to him, _I want to fuck you with your own cock_. Because fuck, he actually wants to. He really didn’t know he did, this is not something that’s ever crossed his mind before, but now they’re here and Johnny wants him to, and Mark would be an idiot and probably never forgive himself if he didn’t seize this opportunity with both hands. “I’m sure. I want to—to do this.”

“Cool,” Johnny says, grinning, back to casual just like that.

Mark has had a good look at buttholes before. When doing doggy style, it’s like, right there. He’s thought about it, how easy it would be to just slip his thumb in, and he wanted to, or even more, but he felt like he couldn’t just ask. And the girls he has been with never brought it up themselves.

He has tried to take a look at his own butthole before, too. But he didn’t have a mirror he could hold, and he wasn’t going to use his phone because the idea of some hacker somewhere being able to watch along with him made him freak out. Being on your phone while you take a shit is totally different from snapping a closeup of your pucker.

And now Johnny is on his hands and knees in front of Mark, showing Mark his own ass. Really, Mark can see _everything_. A side of his balls Mark has never seen before, the hairs he’s got in this area, his dick bobbing between his thighs, and his wrinkled rim right there. Mark doesn’t really want to pay attention to it, but—at least it looks clean.

Maybe Johnny was right, though—from this angle, his butt looks kinda nice. Kind of—kind of hot. Maybe Johnny has been looking at Mark secretly, at his ass, maybe when he’s bending over doing nothing that should be seen as sexual, the way Mark sometimes accidentally does with Johnny. Half-formed thoughts in his head suggest to him that maybe that’s the reason Johnny’s on his knees in front of him right now, that maybe parts of Mark’s body make him feel similar to how being in Johnny’s body makes Mark feel. Mark pushes the idea away before it can fully take shape, not letting himself be under any illusion. He has other things to focus on right now.

“You gotta stretch first.” Johnny looks over his shoulder with a smirk that makes Mark suspect he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s doing it on purpose. “Get your body ready to take my cock.”

Yeah, Johnny knows, he definitely knows. Mark feels Johnny’s words all the way to his core, twisting his stomach. He doesn’t need to check to confirm it, he knows he’ll have to get himself ready, but he looks down anyway. Johnny’s cock hangs heavy between his legs, thick and flushed and Mark can feel it fill up even more.

And Johnny wants Mark to put that in his ass.

He reaches out with a pointer finger and gingerly touches between his own butt cheeks, stroking over his rim. Johnny scoffs, because of Mark’s careful touch probably, and then he fucking arches his back and pushes back towards Mark’s finger.

“Oh my god, dude…” Mark mutters. He still has a hard time grasping that Johnny is really out here, doing this. Mark’s gaze flits up and there’s still his own face, Johnny straining to look over his shoulder, Mark’s lips still curled up into that impish, greedy smile, and Johnny being so into it is only making the heat coiling in Mark's belly worse, somehow.

With his free hand, he reaches for his own butt cheek and it sounds dumb, even in his own head, but Johnny’s hand looks so good grabbing an ass, his long fingers digging into the flesh. Then his brain goes and makes it even worse by pointing out that it looks good grabbing _Mark’s_ ass. Almost like it was made to do so.

Mark shakes his head, and refocuses on the task at hand. He spreads his cheeks, and presses one of Johnny’s fingers against his own puckered hole, just to experience what that feels like.

Johnny snorts. “That won’t do.”

“No, I _know_ —I’m not done yet!” He knows what to do, kind of. He reaches for the lube Johnny dropped next to his pillow, and settles behind his own body so he can start.

So maybe he doesn’t _really_ know what he’s doing, he’s already unsure where and how to use the lube, but somehow, the naked, waiting body in front of him being his own seems to make it easier. He doesn’t feel as much pressure as usual, and delicately squirting some lube on Johnny’s fingers, Mark decides to just go for it.

He pushes his slick middle finger against the ring of muscle, and the tip slips inside easily, but Johnny wiggles and it looks like he wants to pull away, and Mark stops immediately. “Dude, that’s cold,” Johnny groans. “Geez, you’ve really never done this before, have you?”

“Sorry…” Mark is not sure Johnny wants him to pull his finger out now, or not. But it should warm up soon enough, the inside of his butthole is really hot. And tight, too, different from what he’s felt before. Mark feels Johnny’s cock twitch, thinking about how he’s gonna be inside of that, which kind of surprises him. Because it’s his own ass, but he wants to put his cock in it anyway. Or, well, Johnny’s cock but jesus, he wants to fuck _his own ass_.

“Add another,” Johnny says, bending his head and looking back at Mark over his shoulder again. He’s pulled his pillows towards him and is resting on them, back arched and ass up high and God, Mark is really fingering himself and Johnny at the same time right now.

“Already? Are you sure?” The only thing he knows about anal is that it’s important to take it slow, and be careful. And it really doesn’t feel like he could fit any more than just one finger inside.

“Yeah. Do it.”

If Johnny tells him to, he can’t really say no. Mark pulls his finger out completely and grabs the lube again, pouring some more over both his fingers and rubbing it with his thumb to warm it up. He’s getting lube all over Johnny’s hand now, getting it all slick and that actually looks kind of sexy, too, but Mark forces himself not to linger on the image.

It takes some effort to put two fingers in, squeezing them past his rim. Johnny moves his hips a bit, and Mark feels him, actually _sees_ him clench and relax around his fingers, and he feels Johnny’s cock throb again, because that’s kind of insane. Mark is starting to feel a little out of breath just watching this.

He still only approximately knows what to do, so he settles on just kind of thrusting his fingers in and out, very shallowly and carefully so he won’t hurt Johnny or his own body. But for Johnny it’s not enough, apparently.

“Mark,” he says impatiently. “Do you know where your prostate is?”

Mark knows, in theory. He knows where it should be, but he has no idea how to reach for it from inside of him. “Um…”

Johnny huffs a short, breathy laugh, and Mark really should’ve been expecting it but he feels _that_ too. Holy fuck. That's what his own body feels like, it can feel that good. “Kind of curl your fingers. Towards the front. Look for it, you can feel it.”

Mark can’t feel anything inside though. He can barely even move his fingers, because it’s _so_ tight, his body so snug around his fingers, keeping them in place. Johnny said his hole had to be stretched, but so far it doesn’t seem like much of that has happened. “Are you sure this is okay?”

He quickly looks up, and from what he can see of his own face, it doesn’t look like Johnny is in pain or anything. Mark doesn’t want to make premature assumptions, but it kind of looks like he’s enjoying it.

And Johnny confirms his impression. “Yeah, it feels good.” 

“For real? It doesn’t, like, hurt?”

“No.” Johnny laughs again. “For real. You don’t have to be so careful.”

Mark considers Johnny’s words for a moment, and starts thrusting his fingers in a bit faster, trying to do what Johnny told him to. He gets rewarded almost right away. “Oh, fuck,” Johnny says quietly, and Mark is taken aback by the way his own voice sounds, low and hoarse and kind of catching in his throat. “Wow, Mark, you're kind of sensitive.”

“Are you actually for real right now?” It comes out weirdly sincere in Johnny’s voice, but Mark is not sure what tone he was going for anyway. There’s a chance Johnny is still messing with him, since he’s often so fixated on Mark’s ass for some reason, but—what Johnny said earlier didn't sound like a lie, it sounded like he actually _likes_ Mark's ass. He likes it _like that_.

“Yeah, I am,” Johnny answers him. “Wait, you’ve never tried this?”

He hasn’t, because it felt weird to do it himself, kind of wrong. He wanted someone else to do it for him. Or, who is he kidding, he wanted _Johnny_ to do it. He wanted Johnny to take the initiative, let Mark know that it’s okay, that he would make Mark feel good. “I haven’t...”

“Damn…” Johnny says in Mark’s breathy voice. “You’re missing out.” His laugh is a short, staccato sound and it gets cut off in a gasp when Mark thrusts his fingers in again. The angle is kind of awkward for Mark, and he figures out he probably should’ve used his pointer instead of his ring finger, but for Johnny it doesn’t seem to matter. “Add another finger,” he gasps.

Mark does as he’s told, pulls his fingers all the way out and pushes three back inside, watching as his own hole slowly opens up to accommodate the intrusion. Three whole fingers, that’s like half of Johnny’s hand inside Mark’s ass right now. Johnny’s fingers aren’t really thick, the stretch shouldn’t even be that big, but the sight and feeling of it is driving Mark crazy. And with every hitch he can hear in his own breath, every satisfied sigh Johnny gives, Mark feels his rationality slipping further away from him.

But the worry he felt earlier won't completely leave him yet. It’s still really tight, and Mark realises there might be a bit of a problem. “I—I don’t think…” He looks down at Johnny’s full, meaty cock, tip nearly touching the back of his own thigh, and looks up at his own body again. “It’s not gonna fit?”

He was being absolutely serious, but he’s still not exactly surprised by the way Johnny bursts out in a short laugh. “Trust me, it will.”

“But won't it hurt?”

“I’m used to it.” Even though Mark can’t look Johnny in the eye right now, he can hear the amusement in his own voice. Johnny’s nonchalance is not really enough to convince him, though.

“Yeah but—my body isn’t!” Mark doesn’t think his butthole has ever been stretched the size of Johnny’s dick. Or, well, maybe it has, Mark always checks his stool because that’s important, but—that’s really not something he wants to be thinking about right now.

“You’re not the one feeling it, though.” Johnny twists to send him a look, as if urging him to hurry up and get his own dick in him, and Mark instantly flushes again. But who knows, maybe it really is frustrating, having three fingers in your ass preparing you to take a dick, and then not getting it. Mark wouldn’t know.

“No, but—is it really gonna be okay?”

“It is, trust me.” There’s a short pause before Johnny continues. “Impale me on that big cock of yours.”

Mark bursts out in panicked laughter, because even though that was clearly a joke, he automatically imagines himself, _actually_ himself, saying that to Johnny, and Johnny doing it, and—well.

Then other things pop up in his head. “Wait, but are you, like... a bottom?” He already kind of knew that Johnny sleeps with men, that he’s probably bisexual like Mark himself, but he didn’t know—he expected Johnny to—

He knows, this time, that Johnny’s going to laugh at him, and Johnny does, dropping Mark’s face to the pillow before looking over his shoulder again and staring at Mark in a way that’s really weirdly intense. “I’m fine with both.” He reaches for the condom he grabbed earlier, and throws it in Mark’s direction. “Here.”

Mark blindly picks it up from the sheets, as his brain brings back memories of Johnny saying he wants to fuck Mark’s ass. “I—I see,” he mumbles, desperately trying to tell himself there’s no way Johnny meant anything _like that_ with it. His slippery fingers struggle to tear the foil, and then he gets distracted by Johnny reaching between his legs to stroke Mark’s cock and Mark drops the condom completely, and altogether it's pretty damn embarrassing.

He strokes Johnny’s dick a few times when he finally gets the condom rolled down, making sure it’s covered in lube, and breathlessly stares at it for a moment, thick and long and looking so fucking nice between Johnny’s fingers, making his mouth water. And that’s gonna go inside himself.

When he looks up, he finds his own face looking back at him. “How long are you gonna make me wait?” Johnny says. “Want me to beg for it? Is that what you’re into?”

“What?” Mark starts laughing nervously. Johnny absolutely wouldn’t need to beg him for anything. “Sorry, I was just—”

Johnny reaches back and uses Mark’s hand to spread Mark’s butt cheeks, his hole slick and inviting and Mark seriously just thought that about his own butthole. But Johnny doesn’t allow him time to think about that, with the words he says next: “ _Fuck me, please_.”

“Dude, _what_ —” Mark knows Johnny is doing it to mess with him, twisting Mark’s voice into something whiny and over the top just to fluster him, but he can’t help but wonder if this is how Johnny would like him to be. If Johnny has ever seriously thought of fucking him before, imagined Mark on his knees like he’s doing right now with Mark’s body, talking like that, offering up his ass. Mark shudders. “You don’t—you really don’t—”

Johnny laughs at him. “Oh, you don’t like that?”

“I—” Mark is acutely aware that if it was actually Johnny, Johnny’s body and Johnny’s voice, talking to him like that, he would probably nut instantly or something humiliating like that. “Um…”

“But I’m serious though. Don’t leave me hanging like this.”

Fuck, that’s right, Mark is really about to fuck Johnny. They might be swapped right now, but it’s still _Johnny_. “Yeah, okay, I’ll…” He shuffles closer on his knees, reaching for his own body and lining up Johnny’s dick. “Yeah?”

“I’ve been waiting.” Like he did earlier, Johnny pushes Mark’s ass back, nudging his cock, and Mark unintentionally tightens his hand around his own hip.

“Okay, I’m gonna…” Mark doesn’t get very far. He starts pushing in, staring mesmerised as the tip of Johnny’s dick sinks inside, and the tight heat of his own hole grips him like a vice, wrapping around him so deliciously Mark needs to take a break right away. He sucks in a deep breath, and looks at the way his own head hangs between his shoulders. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Johnny says, even though Mark can clearly hear how tight his voice sounds. “Are _you_?”

“I—I don’t know…” He answers honestly. He kind of feels like he’s losing his mind. His own hole is sucking him inside, like his own body craves Johnny’s cock and that thought makes him feel crazy. He slowly pushes in further, deeper, until he’s pressed up against his own backside, and he needs to pause again, gasping for breath. He’s kind of glad, now, that he already came. “Wow…”

“Fuck, that’s good,” Mark's voice groans, his back sinking into a deeper arch, pushing back.

“Is it?” It doesn't come out the way Johnny sounds, too genuine, too sincere. Mark keeps anxiously still, no matter how badly he wants to start moving. “You're okay?”

“ _Yeah_.” Johnny takes it upon himself to move, pulling away and sitting back down on his own cock, as much as the angle allows him to, and Mark means to wait, he really does, but he finds himself too impatient, digging his fingers into his own skin to keep his body still and his hips roll forward instinctively.

But it makes Johnny exhale, roughly, loud enough to be almost a moan so Mark does it again, and again. Johnny rests his head on his forearms, Mark’s own face looking back at him, and reminding Mark that he is really fucking himself right now, and it’s so fucking weird, but it also feels so good.

The way Johnny is staring at him quickly becomes too much for Mark, the look in his own eyes too intense, and Mark looks down instead, at Johnny’s hands holding his own hips, Johnny’s cock buried inside himself. It’s not making him fare much better. He pulls out carefully and fucks back in just as slowly, hypnotised by the image of Johnny’s cock sliding in and out of his own hole. This is what Johnny would see, if he fucked Mark, this is what it looks like. His strong forearms holding onto Mark, his abs flexed, the trail of hair on his stomach leading right down to where their bodies are connected.

It’s like pov porn, Mark’s brain comes up with for some reason. If Johnny were to take a video while fucking Mark, and he’d show it to Mark later, it would look like this.

And his own voice keeps making these _noises_. Moans, harsh pants, a string of curses falling from his lips. Mark didn’t know his voice could sound like that. He sounds—he sounds _sexy_. If Johnny were to fuck him, Mark himself might be making those noises. Mark really hopes he can, when he has his own body back—that it’s not just because it’s Johnny right now.

Mark tries to take it slow, wanting to be careful with the body on his knees in front of him, but it’s also for himself. His own hole is just so hot and tight and it feels so fucking satisfying. And Johnny is not making it easier. “Come on, fuck me,” he groans, his butt still sticking out, plush against Mark’s hips, jiggling a little whenever Mark thrusts forward. Is it weird to be attracted to your own body? Because right now Mark thinks he is, Johnny makes him look so hot.

“Fuck,” Mark mutters. He uses Johnny’s hands to pull his own body back on Johnny’s cock, his tight rim dragging along Johnny’s shaft, stretched wide by Johnny’s girth. And Johnny is taking it so well. He makes it sound like it feels so good. “ _Fuck_ ,” Mark whispers again.

Logically, Mark knows that probably anything, anyone would’ve felt good, no matter how crude that sounds, with how worked up he’s been, and he _still_ is despite Johnny having jerked him off already, with how long it’s been since he’s been with another person. And it might have been a while for Johnny's body, too. That’s all. The idea that it’s because his own ass just fits so perfectly around Johnny’s cock is ridiculous. But yet, the thought is here, in his head, only reinforced by the way Johnny is reacting because clearly it does something for him, too.

Mark already feels like he won’t be able to hold out much longer. “I’m—um—” He slows down until he’s shallowly rolling his hips against Johnny. “Like, it's been a while, for me…” he says, completely ignoring how Johnny made him come just moments earlier. That was just a handjob, it’s not the same. “I’m—I’m not sure how long I’ll last.”

“Pull out,” is Johnny’s reaction.

Mark stops moving completely, practically freezing up, hands not letting go of his own hips. Is Johnny really gonna do this to him? Is Mark being unable to last such a turn off? Has he been doing a bad job, did he let Johnny down, did Johnny realise this is not what he wanted after all? “What?” 

“Pull out, do it.”

Disappointment tempering whatever he was feeling before, Mark slowly pulls out, and Johnny turns over, shuffling back on the bed. “I wanna see.”

“ _Oh_.” It hits Mark, then. He forgot that while he sees himself, Johnny is seeing Johnny. “Right, yeah—of course.” That’s right, he’s doing this for Johnny. Mark can’t let himself get swept away, he’s supposed to make Johnny have a good experience. Or at least, that’s what he wants to do. Fuck Johnny with his own cock...

Turned onto his back, Johnny can look at all of Mark very well. Mark suddenly feels kind of exposed, kneeling in front of Johnny, Johnny’s cock still in his hand, and he has to remind himself Johnny has probably seen this, his own naked body, countless times before. And Mark still wants to do this well for Johnny. He tries to imagine what Johnny would do in this situation, and he flexes, stroking his cock and running his free hand through Johnny’s hair, looking down at himself from underneath heavy eyelids. And then realises that’s really just the way he would like to see Johnny.

But his own eyes are on him the way Mark suspects they would be if they weren’t switched, too. He sees Johnny look down to his cock, and then slowly trail his gaze back up, thirsty, licking his lips, and Mark can only imagine this is what he looks like as well, when looking at Johnny.

It makes the heat in his body flare up, a primal need twisting low in his belly as he watches Johnny rearrange his limbs and get comfortable. Maybe it’s a natural reaction to seeing his own body like this, in a state of arousal. A feeling Mark’s intimately familiar with. He knows exactly what it feels like when Johnny strokes Mark’s fingers along his cock, his thumb swiping over the head. He can practically feel it himself.

Mark moves into the space Johnny creates for him between his thighs, and he hesitates again. From behind was easy, but like this the angle is quite different, and he's not exactly sure how to continue. “Um…”

He thinks Johnny is laughing at him, but it’s so breathy still, and then Johnny grabs his legs, knees to shoulders, and wider. Holding his thighs, spreading Mark’s body open for Mark.

“Oh, jesus,” Mark mutters without thinking, distracted by the shameless, almost vulgar display in front of him. He gets so caught up by the idea that Johnny could be doing that in his own body, showing himself like that in front of people he’s sleeping with, that he doesn’t immediately notice that Johnny is talking again.

“You just gonna sit there and do nothing again?”

"No, I'm—" Mark shakes himself out of it, getting back into the present. He has things to do right now, like fucking Johnny with his own cock. With an unsteady hand he reaches for the lube again. He can see it so well now, the contrast between Johnny's body and his own, Johnny's thighs much bigger, his arms much stronger. Johnny's cock is so thick, and yet it fits inside Mark perfectly. Mark feels it throb in his hand, and he shudders.

"Come on, I know you can do better than that," his own voice tells him. Johnny might not be talking to him anymore, but to the Johnny in front of him. He's got Mark's hands hooked under his knees, legs still spread, hole exposed. So desperate for his own cock, Mark thinks, and his breath catches in his throat.

He's never seen Johnny in this kind of state. He never thought Johnny would be like this, but he's had fleeting fantasies where he was like that himself, confident, even with Johnny hovering over him like this, greedy. Just as starving for Johnny’s cock.

"Yeah, okay," Mark mumbles, shuffling even closer and grabbing his own thigh, pushing it down even further. The head of Johnny's cock feels so good against his own hot rim and Mark craves to be back inside that tight heat, but he doesn't go on just yet. Instead, he attempts to channel the way he thinks Johnny would talk to him if they were about to do this. He definitely wouldn't be shy and hesitant like Mark has been. He would know exactly what to do, and he'd know he was going to make Mark feel really good.

Mark looks at his own flushed face, his chest moving with Johnny's short and shallow breaths, his hole fluttering when Mark rubs Johnny's cock over it, and he musters courage with one quick inhale.

"You're so needy," he huffs, chuckling, trying to go for that borderline condescending tone that Johnny uses on him sometimes. He barely even needs to pretend, Johnny really has been kind of needy at the moment, impatient even. "You want it that bad?"

Johnny laughs, head dropping back but gaze not leaving himself, and Mark is pretty sure he sounds pleasantly surprised. He sounds like he _likes_ this, and it makes heat bloom under Mark's skin as he continues. "Fuck, you do. You want your own cock."

"I do," Johnny laughs again, but the sound cuts off when Mark finally pushes inside. He sinks all the way in with one smooth thrust, not being overly careful this time since Johnny clearly doesn't want him to be. They both groan when he bottoms out, Mark's stomach clenching as he savours the feeling of his own heat wrapping around Johnny's cock again.

His resolution to fuck Johnny the way Johnny wants him to crumbles before Mark can even start to move, when his own hole clenches so perfectly around him and Mark can't help the way his hips stutter. "Did you do that?" he blurts, not able to keep the act of pretending to be Johnny up.

"What, this?" Johnny says, and he does it again, getting incredibly tight, sucking Johnny's cock deeper inside. Mark digs his fingers into the flesh of his own thigh and curses under his breath, head dropping and hips trying to buck impossibly closer.

"Feels good for you?" Despite gasping for breath in Mark's body, Johnny manages to make his voice sound mischievous, amusement obvious, and Mark should've known he would, but he pulls the same shit Mark tried to pull on him. "You like fucking your own tight hole?"

"Oh—oh my god—" Mark hates how Johnny has to say it like that, because it feels wrong to admit it like this, but he does like it. If he had known he would like it this much, he would've given an enthusiastic _yes_ right when Johnny first asked. He might've even suggested it himself, he thinks now.

"You do, don't you," Johnny grins, throwing Mark's own words back at Mark. "Your _bussy_ ," he calls it with a breathless laugh. "Is it nice, Mark? Tell me—" He cuts himself off, and it sounds to Mark almost as if he wants to follow it with, _is it as nice as I think it is?_ Mark bites the inside of Johnny's lip, the heat in his belly twisting tightly.

And Johnny isn't even done yet. He shifts, moving his legs to dig his heels in Mark's back, not letting Mark forget just how much control he has over Mark's body. "Does it feel good around my cock?" he asks, and it does, it fucking _does_ , and Mark can't deal with this right now.

"If you—I can't... don't talk like that because—" Mark shuts up, once again too late.

"Why, because you're gonna come? Is your own hole so tight you're—" His voice breaks when Mark pulls back and starts thrusting into him, hard, shutting him up effectively. Mark remembers that he's stronger than Johnny right now, bigger than him. He's got his cock inside him. He should be in control.

And it works so well. Johnny tips his head back, gasping, fingers digging painfully into the flesh of his own thighs in an attempt to pull Mark closer. "Do that again," he groans, and Mark complies right away, his façade of control dropping as he slips right back into being Mark who wants to do well for Johnny.

"I knew it would be good," Johnny mutters through harsh inhales, gaze fixed on Mark, and Mark wants to ask him what he means with that, how he knew, but he doesn't allow himself to get hopeful. Instead he tries to fuck Johnny the way Johnny wants him to, the way that punches rough little sounds from his throat, that has his fingers scrambling for purchase. Mark finds a steady rhythm, not too fast so that he's able to last, and focuses entirely on making sure Johnny is getting what he wants.

And it occurs to Mark that he knows his body's sensitive spots. He knows how kisses in his neck make him react, the way they make him tremble and writhe and feel like his limbs are filled with liquid heat, and he wants Johnny to be able to feel that, too. And Johnny has Mark's neck stretched, thick and muscular and gleaming with a sheen of sweat and almost like he's begging for it, so Mark leans in without hesitation, until his lips meet his own skin, mouthing at it, licking up until he reaches the thin skin right underneath his ear.

Johnny reacts exactly the way Mark expects him to, moaning and arching off the bed, fingers digging into his skin, twitching in Mark's lap. Mark needs to slow down again.

His own scent is familiar, even the taste lingering on his skin, where he thought it might be weird, it feels almost natural. He takes his earlobe between Johnny's teeth, and hearing his own gravelly voice in uncontrolled whimpers lets him know that somehow, he's doing a good job, that Johnny is feeling good right now, that he actually likes this.

Mark leaves open-mouthed kisses along his own neck until he feels hands nudging at his shoulders, pushing him up without much force. "Lean back a little," Johnny breathes out, twisting his head away. "I wanna see you."

This time Mark doesn't forget that Johnny is talking about himself. He pulls away, sits up completely so Johnny can look at himself. It’s not as smooth as he wanted it to be, accidentally slipping out while rearranging their legs, but he’s got that fixed fast enough.

Looking down, the idea of pov porn is back in his head. It really looks pretty hot, Johnny’s cock disappearing between his ass cheeks, his own erection bobbing on his stomach, his balls moving a little with every thrust. It would have to be filmed with sound, the slap of skin every time Mark rocks his hips forward, the wet sound of the lube, the noises coming from his own throat, the breathy grunts he can hear in Johnny’s voice.

Still, a video doesn’t compare to the real deal, so hot and tight, so fucking good. Mark watches as he pulls out until his rim is tugging around the head of Johnny's cock, fucking back in with a smooth roll of his hips. Johnny's core strength is insane, he can tell very well now. Making it so easy to deliver deep, striking thrusts, and leaving Mark entranced by the way it's making Johnny writhe and gasp.

Maybe Mark keeps avoiding looking himself in the eye. It remains weird, no matter how good it feels. And even through Mark's eyes, it feels like Johnny can see straight through him. It makes him nervous. But he’s got plenty of other things to look at. Johnny hasn't been touching Mark's dick again, Mark noticed, just holding it with a thumb curled around the base, and Mark feels like he can't just leave himself untouched like that. And he knows exactly how to make himself feel good. He's had years of experience, he's got this. If it worked with Johnny touching him, it should work the other way around, too.

His cock is much wetter than normal, precum sticky and shiny on his stomach, and Mark can guess why. Johnny's cock must be hitting the right places, massaging his prostate every time Mark rolls his hips, stimulating it. Mark's read that it's supposed to feel good. It seems like it feels good for Johnny, at least.

His precum is sticky on Johnny's fingers, and Mark can see his own stomach muscles flex when he spreads it over his glans in a way that always gets him fired up, then uses it to aide the slide of his hand as he grabs himself, just shy of too hard. He can't even feel that it's his own cock, he finds out, grabbing it with a different hand from a different angle making it feel foreign even when he can see that it's definitely his own. But he still knows exactly what feels good. And it's so satisfying to hear his own gasps exactly the way he's expecting them to.

Mark speaks the words on his mind before he can chicken out, feigning confidence, helping Johnny, keeping up the illusion that he's having sex with himself, and he asks: "You like that?"

He watches as his own eyes fall shut, and Johnny tips his head back with an open-mouthed smile. "Fuck, yeah," he gasps, "I do. Keep going."

Mark is aware that the real Johnny wouldn't follow his words so easily, but his brain makes Johnny's body do it before he can really think about it. It's fascinating, his own body's reaction. Mark thinks he understands better now, why Johnny was so into the idea. He pulls himself a bit closer on Johnny’s lap, and starts setting a faster pace, making full use of the strength and stamina Johnny's body contains and trying his hardest to make Johnny feel so fucking good.

Johnny hasn’t been trying to keep quiet at all. Every roll of his hips punches another sound from Mark's throat, voice breaking at the end of every low moan. Mark doesn't know if it's because it's Johnny, right now, or if Mark's always going to sound like this when he's getting fucked, but it sounds so fucking lewd, obscene almost. Mark momentarily worries if Johnny even closed the window, but the idea of people on the street being able to hear them is not distracting enough to make him want to stop right now. He wants to hear more of his own voice like this, make Johnny feel even better.

Johnny starts touching him, too, hands going from his thighs to his own abdomen, chest and waist, Johnny mapping out his own skin. Hey, he says between breaths, tongue wetting Mark's lips. He slides his hands around his shoulders and neck and urges Mark down. “You wanna kiss?”

“Oh—” Mark is not sure why these words catch him off guard, when Johnny has already asked him to do way more than that. It’s actually kind of weird, now that he thinks about it, that they haven’t been kissing yet. “Sure, yeah, okay.”

Johnny pulls him closer, and Mark leans in, about to kiss his own face for real this time. He has to close his eyes because it’s still strange, but at least he can’t feel that those are his own lips he’s kissing right now, his own teeth tugging at his bottom lip. Which makes sense, he then figures out, because he’s never touched his own mouth like this, with another mouth.

He doesn’t really get a chance to think about how Johnny’s and his lips fit together, because Johnny pulls away from him, making Mark aware that he’s been getting distracted. “Damn,” Johnny says with Mark’s voice, low and grainy, corners of his mouth curling up into a mean smile, “you really are a bad kisser.”

“Hey!” Mark pushes himself up, frowning by reflex. “Stop—stop making fun of me! This is, just—unfamiliar!”

Johnny laughs, but twists his hands in his own hair and fuck, that really does feel good on Johnny’s scalp, sparks running down his entire skin. Mark lets himself be guided close again for an open-mouthed kiss, filthy and wet and taking Mark by surprise with how desperate it gets. When Mark moans into it, hand reaching for a hold on his hip, folding his own body in half so they fit together better, Johnny kisses him even harder.

He stops thinking about it, about how he’s kissing himself, _fucking_ himself, not many thoughts left in his brain as his carnal desire starts to take over, blindly holding onto his thighs and pushing his legs to his shoulders, hooking his arms underneath so he can reach deeper. He can hear the staccato moans of his own voice, Johnny panting too hard now to kiss him back properly and Mark kind of loves that he was able to get him like this.

Johnny squeezes a hand in between them, reaching down, and Mark feels it when he's starting to jerk himself off to the speed of Mark's thrusts. Mark isn’t thinking, he can’t really think anymore, but his mouth keeps going and he accidentally asks Johnny, out loud, “How does it feel, touching—touching my cock?”

Johnny chuckles breathlessly against his jaw. “You know what—what it feels like. Don’t you?”

Mark meant how it felt for Johnny to hold Mark’s dick in his hand, but he’s not sure how to express that right now. He doesn’t know how to say anything right now, getting too out of breath, his heart racing, and everything feels so hot. “Is it good?” he simply asks.

“Yeah,” Johnny groans, his mouth pressed against his own neck, wet, and so hot, too. Johnny’s neck must be sensitive like this as well, because Mark likes this so much barely catches what Johnny says next. “Gonna come soon.”

Mark's breath catches in his throat, and he nearly falls over the edge himself with Johnny’s words. He’s about to make Johnny _come_. He searches for more leverage and restarts his thrusts, and his own voice is loud and shameless, Johnny clenching around him. “Keep going, keep going,” he tells Mark, almost commanding him, “just like that,” and Mark tries his best to follow Johnny’s request.

It's nearly driving Mark insane, the way Johnny's groaning a string of broken _yeah_ ’s, muscles pulling tight and Mark can tell that he's so close. His hand starts working faster around Mark's cock, and Mark desperately tries to stave off his own orgasm, holding back and trying to continuously fuck into Johnny in the same way, until his body locks up and Johnny tips his head back, mouth open in a voiceless moan.

Mark tries his best to fuck Johnny through it, although he has no idea how Johnny likes it, only slowing down when it gets too tight to move. He tries not to let himself get distracted when he feels some of his own cum hit his stomach, the way he can see his own face twisted in pleasure, eyebrows scrunched together, head thrown back and the column of his throat exposed.

Johnny’s strong arms keep him up as Mark hovers over himself, listening to the way his unrepressed groans sound when he’s coming down, when he’s not holding back but instead basking in blatant satisfaction. Mark feels hot with second-hand pleasure, his heart still pounding. He needs to dig his fingers into the sheets to hold back from chasing his own high and rutting against Johnny like some fucking dog, he needs some kind of sign from Johnny for what he should do next, first.

“Fuck,” Johnny pants, chest still heaving. He opens his eyes and looks at Mark. “I didn’t think you could fuck like that.” He smiles a little when he says it, mouth still open, and Mark knows it's a backhanded compliment, and he's pretty sure it was mostly, if not all, because of Johnny's body anyway, but Johnny's tone was almost appreciative, and the warmth from being praised settles over his skin, makes him shudder a little.

Moving lazily, Johnny slips his hand off Mark’s dick, and slides it through the ribbons of white on his stomach. Mark sits up really slowly, too scared to move yet, worried he’s going to hurt Johnny or his own body, and he watches tense and wound up at how Johnny brings Mark’s hand to Mark’s face. He can see it happening, but there's not much he can do as Johnny opens his mouth while keeping direct eye contact with Mark, and sucks Mark's release off his fingers. Mark feels Johnny’s throbbing dick helplessly twitch inside.

He’s a menace, Mark is sure, absolutely hell-bent on flustering Mark with every chance he gets. He even starts grinning as brings Mark’s hand down to his stomach again—except this time, he lifts his fingers up to his own face, fingertips slick with cum right in front of Mark’s eyes.

“Dude—” Mark flinches and turns his head away, face scrunching up. “That’s—”

Mark’s actual face scrunches up a bit, too, as Johnny laughs at him. “You don’t like that?”

“That’s my _own_ , dude!”

“ _I_ like it,” Johnny says with a teasing smile. Mark is not sure if he’s telling the truth or not, but he brings his fingers back to Mark’s mouth again and makes a show of licking them clean, making Mark’s tongue lap up his own cum, twisting around his fingertips.

“Jesus christ.” Mark drops his gaze, unable to keep watching any longer because this is making him feel so weird, but his hips twitch, driving deeper into his own hole without him meaning to, and he hears his own voice gasp and that only makes it worse. “Stop—stop messing with me.”

“I’m serious, though.” Johnny chuckles. He still sounds kind of breathy. “I think it tastes good. Better than my own.”

“Better than—your _own_? What the fuck, dude—” Mark is going crazy, and Johnny eats his own cum. “You don’t—I’m—” Johnny doesn’t need to tease him and embarrass him and make him pop a boner, when he’s already hard and aching and balls deep inside himself. But Johnny never needed to do anything for that to happen, anyway, and that was not what all of this was about either.

Johnny laughs again, and he’s definitely messing around with him, Mark determines as he tenses all his muscles in order to stay still while he _feels_ Johnny laugh. He fails to react fast enough when Johnny grabs the hand Mark had around his own thigh and drags his own fingers through the cum on Mark’s stomach. Mark lets him, stunned, just sits there and watches as Johnny uses Mark’s mouth to clean Mark’s own cum from Johnny’s long fingers, his tongue slick and warm and soft and that would feel fucking good on his dick too, and there’s no fucking way Mark seriously just thought that, Johnny has completely broken his brain.

“Fucking hell…” Mark mutters, feeling like he’s about to explode as Johnny takes two his own fingers deeper into Mark’s hot mouth, sliding them to the back of his tongue.

Maybe Johnny’s into things like this. Maybe he’d like it, if Mark licked Johnny’s cum off his fingers like that. Mark is not about to eat his own nut, but somehow, if it was Johnny’s… If Johnny came on him, and then fed it to him, Mark knows he wouldn’t even hesitate. The realisation sends a flurry of embarrassment and mostly arousal spreading hot through his veins, his brain going empty, and he clenches his jaw, trying not to do anything thoughtless.

He slips his hand free when he feels Johnny loosen his grip, ignoring his own saliva glinting on Johnny’s fingers. “Um, so—” Johnny might’ve gotten what he wanted now, he might be done, but Mark is not really. He kind of desperately wants to come, still. “Do you want me to, uh—to pull out?”

“Um. If you want to?”

“I just—I just wanna come,” Mark blurts out. “Can I?”

His own gaze burns, the smile growing on his face causing a prickle over his skin, a tug of want low in his stomach, and Mark realises those were not the right words to say to Johnny. “You wanna cum?” Johnny says, and he really shouldn’t be able to make a grin on Mark’s face look quite like that. “Do you need my permission?”

“No, I—I just mean…” Mark has no idea what it feels like to get your ass pounded when you’ve already come. “I don’t—I don’t wanna like, hurt you…”

“It’s fine, you can continue.” Johnny hooks Mark’s legs around his own waist, heels digging into his lower back, and he laughs. “C’mon Mark, fuck your own body ‘till you come.”

Mark is about to protest, but Johnny does the thing again where he clenches Mark’s rim around his own dick, and he’s looking up at Mark in a way that makes Mark pretty sure he’s marvelling at his own body again, and Mark feels the words he was about to say slip away from him. “Okay,” he mumbles instead, slowly rolling his hips in a way that he knows makes Johnny’s stomach muscles work under his skin, and it’s partially for Johnny so Johnny can see but it feels so good he doesn’t ever want to stop. “Okay, I’ll—do that...”

His hands find support on the bed, eyes falling close, and as he rocks his hips faster he hears own breath hitch again. He can’t look because he knows that Johnny is watching him as he’s getting off fucking himself, but he doesn’t want to stop, not anymore, losing himself in his own tight heat, allowing himself to do so. Johnny said it was alright.

He sinks into the feeling of pleasure coursing through Johnny’s limbs, the way he can recognise Johnny’s body approaching its peak now, letting whatever inhibitions he had earlier leave his brain as he just chases the feeling. He thinks it's him who's moaning now, Johnny's rough voice reaching his ears, but it doesn't really matter, nothing matters anymore as he's reaching his high.

It's just as good as the other times, or maybe even better, when Johnny's orgasm hits him, coursing through him, spreading to the tips of his fingers and toes as his hips stutter and his cock pulses. He can’t help imagining that the condom isn’t there, imagines that he’s fucking Johnny’s load deep into himself, coating his own insides, spurred on by hearing his own little whines every time he thrusts in.

When he’s spent, he collapses onto Johnny, the pleasant burning he’s feeling in all his muscles rendering him unable to move for a few moments as he’s gasping for a breath he desperately needs. He doesn’t realise Johnny is talking to him until his hands are no longer around his back, instead pushing at his shoulders. “Okay, you can get off now.”

Mark wants to make a joke, something about how he already got off, but he doesn’t have the energy to formulate the words. He hums a reply, pushing himself up on shaky arms so he doesn’t crush his own chest.

It still takes a while for him to gather himself. He takes a deep breath, and it reminds him of the body he’s in, makes him shudder through his exhale as he feels little shockwaves of pleasure sparking from where he’s still got Johnny’s dick inside his own hole, slowly starting to bleed into overstimulation now, and the fog in his head clears a little. “Okay. Um. I’ll, uh—uh...” Mark starts moving away from himself, his eyes darting elsewhere, because suddenly, he doesn't know where to look.

God, _fuck_ , his post nut clarity is setting in fast and it’s kinda really awkward now. But Mark is probably doing all of that himself, he knows. Johnny doesn’t seem to find anything awkward, completely nonchalant as he moves Mark’s legs around so Mark can push himself up all the way and hold onto the condom as he carefully slips Johnny’s dick out. Mark pretends to put all his focus on that, so he doesn’t need to make eye contact with Johnny. 

In his peripherals he can see his own body lying on the towel, legs still bent at the knee and parted, remnants of his own cum on his stomach, the area between his thighs shiny and wet with lube. Johnny takes a really deep, satisfied breath, pushing Mark’s hair off his forehead again, and slowly stretches his legs, and Mark wishes he could be that relaxed right now.

Instead he’s staring dumbly at the condom dangling from his fingers. He didn’t check it before he put it on, and now he’s suddenly wondering if he should make sure it doesn’t have any tiny holes or anything. It’s still holding Johnny’s cum, and it’s not like he could impregnate his own body with Johnny’s seed, but it would probably be polite to check. And it’s not like they were using it to stop pregnancy, anyway.

But he also doesn’t want to sit here staring at the condom that contains Johnny’s cum, and doesn’t want to do anything else that would make Johnny laugh at him. He ends up just tying it off, and shifts to set his feet on the ground, turning back to Johnny. “Okay, um, I’m just—I’m just gonna throw this out. Should I, like… Do you want anything from the bathroom?”

His own body is still spread out on the bed, signs of exertion showing in a flush spreading across his cheeks. So this is what he looks like, after he’s been fucked. After he’s been fucked by _Johnny_. Kind of. Mark wonders if, in their own bodies, he would be as calm and mellow as Johnny right now. If Johnny would fuck him completely limp. Mark represses a shiver, and focuses on what Johnny is telling him. “Get me some of your nice wet wipes.”

“Yeah—sure,” Mark mumbles, already turning towards the door. He needs to get away, and figure out how to act from here.

Walking into the bathroom, he falls into the same trap as earlier. This is what _Johnny_ looks after sex, Mark can see in the mirror the moment he walks in. Johnny’s reflection big, messy, sweaty, flushed like his own skin was, too. Mark doesn’t feel as guilty anymore about staring now, not after all they’ve done. He’s glad, even, that for once his horny brain doesn’t immediately kick into overdrive, and he can actually appreciate it now.

He stares at Johnny’s glowing cheeks as he washes his hands. The pink goes down to splotches on his neck and the center of his chest, fading out towards his tattoo and above what Mark realises must be smears of his own cum. It gets wiped off easily with Mark’s extra soft moist toilet tissues, and Mark takes his time cleaning up, a sated exhaustion settling in Johnny’s bones. He should be thinking about what he’s gonna do when he’ll face his own face again, but his willingness to think about anything at all is fading really quickly. He must’ve depleted his energy.

He takes some wet wipes, and also a wet washcloth back to Johnny’s bedroom, and hands it to Johnny, who takes it with an easy smile. And Mark just kind of stands there, staring at Johnny as Johnny wipes Mark’s body down, and looking away when Johnny reaches his dick, because it makes him feel nervous again, and he just doesn’t really know what to do. The cotton in his head stops him from thinking clearly, and on autopilot he starts moving, walking around the bed to sit down on the free side.

And Johnny’s bed feels _so_ comfortable right now. Maybe there’s some kind of muscle memory thing going on, but Mark suddenly craves to rest all of Johnny’s body on it. “Um… Can I lie down?”

“Sure.” Johnny doesn’t even look up, and Mark gets all the way on the bed, his heavy limbs feeling like they're melting into the mattress.

“Yo, actually…” he mumbles out loud, his mind already drifting, “actually… You know what, you were right. That was—that was kinda good.”

Johnny chuckles. “I told you.” In his peripherals, Mark sees him stretch and get up, and he pulls the edge of the towel out from underneath his own body. “Be right back,” he says, taking the towel with him.

Mark lies back on Johnny’s other pillow and lets his eyes fall shut. Johnny’s body feels really good right now, and it’s urging him to rest and just enjoy it, but Mark can’t get his thoughts to stop completely. Maybe he shouldn’t be here, this is probably the right time for him to leave Johnny’s bedroom. What if Johnny doesn’t actually want Mark lying in his bed, even if it’s his own body?

But Johnny said ‘ _be right back_ ’, so he must have been expecting to see Mark here again, another part of Mark’s brain notes. And maybe when he’s back he’ll tell Mark to leave, but until then Mark can allow his consciousness to fade a little.

He still has his eyes closed when he hears Johnny come back, and doesn’t open them when he feels Johnny set his weight on the bed. “Are you sleeping?” Johnny asks softly, not teasing but in a way that’s almost sweet, Mark is still able to register. He doesn’t have energy to linger on it.

“No,” he whispers back, keeping his eyes closed. He’s almost asleep, though.

Johnny climbs on the bed completely, their limbs touching. When he lies down, it goes accompanied with a gasp and a quiet curse, and Mark’s eyes fly open.

“Are you okay?” he demands to know with urgency, sitting up and turning to look at himself. Whatever he was feeling that kept his limbs heavy and his mind at relative ease, is gone in an instant. He _knew_ it wouldn’t be a good idea, his own body taking Johnny’s cock.

Johnny cracks a small, unworried smile. “‘M fine. Just a little sensitive.”

It doesn’t convince Mark, though. ' _I’m fine'_ might very well mean, ' _I’m in pain, and I don’t want to admit it_ ', and Mark is still worried. “Are you sure?”

“Because your rim is all swollen now,” Johnny explains, impish grin slowly returning, and Mark can’t stop the jerky twitch his shoulders make. It’s still so weird to see himself talk about things like that so nonchalantly. Johnny continues without any stutters or panicked giggles. “It’s just really sensitive. Inside feels kind of empty, too.”

Part of Johnny’s body jerks again, beyond Mark’s control, like Johnny’s casual disclosure acts as a live wire, making his muscles freeze up. “Um—what?" Mark makes Johnny’s voice come out high pitched through his tight throat, and he awkwardly starts laughing again.

“Yeah. you wanna feel?”

Mark thinks about it for a few seconds, face no doubt turning red, but actually, yeah, he does. It’s his own body, he wants to know. He’s already touched Johnny there anyway, with Johnny’s own fingers and also with his own fucking cock.

Johnny doesn’t gasp again, or tense up, or twist his face in pain, when Mark reaches between his legs and slips his fingers between his cheeks, Mark makes sure to pay attention to it. There’s only the slight hitch of his breath, and he spreads Mark’s thighs wider with an encouraging smile. Mark feels his cheeks burn, and he turns away from his face.

It’s a bit swollen compared to before, Mark can feel that. But it really doesn’t seem to be causing Johnny any pain. “It seriously doesn’t hurt?”

“Nah,” Johnny says easily. “It doesn’t, usually, unless you’re like, really tense. And we didn’t go at it for very long, or hard.” He says it like he’s teasing Mark for not lasting, amusement obvious in his voice, even though he definitely came before Mark did. Unless they take the handjob into the equation, too, and Mark is hit by another wave of embarrassment when he remembers how fast Johnny was able to make him come.

He distracts himself by pressing the tip of Johnny’s finger to his own rim, and it barely meets any resistance.

“You gotta use more lube, though, if you’re gonna do that,” Johnny says, already reaching for the bottle.

This was probably not what Johnny meant, when he asked Mark if he wanted to feel. Mark is pretty sure Johnny didn’t mean feeling this thoroughly, on the inside, with two slicked up fingers, but he asked Johnny if he should continue, and Johnny said “ _sure_ ” and his fingers just slip in so easily now. Johnny makes little noises with Mark’s voice and they definitely don’t sound like he dislikes it, and Mark just keeps going. He curls his fingers up like he remembers Johnny told him to do, and Johnny gasps louder. “That’s—that’s pretty good. That’s good, right there.”

And Mark thinks he _can_ feel it now, actually, rubbing over that spot that makes Johnny sigh and flex his stomach. Mark’s not really sure what to do, if it’s the same as with girls—he never really got the hang of that quite as well as he wishes—but whatever he’s doing must be good for Johnny. He’s getting kind of twitchy now, rubbing Mark’s hands over the sheets, his thighs, lifting his shoulders off the bed and dropping back again, his dick half hard again. It clearly feels _good_ , and damn, maybe Mark has really been missing out.

“Keep going,” Johnny gasps, even though Mark had no intention to stop. He doesn’t know what they’re doing right now, if they’re going for another round (Mark doesn’t really know what Johnny’s refractory period is, but if Johnny gives him a couple minutes, he honestly feels like he could), but he wants to keep going. He moves to his knees when his wrist starts cramping, ignoring his hand getting sore and determined to make Johnny feel as good as he can.

Mark doesn’t even really realise at first. He hears his own voice getting louder, breathing rough and erratic, and he feels how Johnny is getting tight around his fingers, constricting repeatedly, but he thinks maybe Johnny is doing it on purpose again. Until Johnny’s hand flies to his cock and Mark looks, and he sees Johnny is coming, he’s actually coming, shooting from the tip of Mark’s dick as Johnny hurriedly jerks himself through it, Mark’s whole body drawn tight like a bow, curled around his fist. Even with how tight it is, Mark tries to finger him through it, tries to keep doing the exact same thing, rewarded by more of his own garbled moans.

It takes a long time for his own body to relax. Johnny is heaving, head tipped back, looking completely out of it, and Mark marvels at the sight. He doesn’t think he’s ever come like that before, that full-bodied and all encompassing, and now he’s kind of sad he missed it, but at least he made it happen. He made Johnny feel like that.

“Oh, wow,” Johnny mumbles after a few moments, smacking Mark’s lips. He blinks his eyes open, and looks at Mark. “Okay. Maybe I want to keep this body.” His chuckle comes out breathy. “Just kidding. But wow… I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

“Yeah, wow…” Mark says as well, eloquently capturing what he felt these past minutes. “I don’t think I have either. Was that… was that like a prostate orgasm?”

“I used my hand, though.” Johnny looks down at it, spreads Mark’s small fingers and looks at the cum coating his palm. “Your hand…” He drops it clean side down on the sheets, and his head tips back with a contented sigh.

He doesn’t look like he’s about to move anytime soon, if he’s feeling like Mark thinks he is, completely satiated, all bones in his body replaced by warmth and bliss. Mark leans over himself for the moist tissues Johnny discarded on the floor earlier, which is a bit gross maybe, but Johnny doesn’t say anything about it as Mark uses them to wipe his own stomach and palm and dick clean. 

“Thanks.” Johnny smiles at him when Mark drops the tissues back on the floor, but otherwise doesn’t do much. He’s not giving Mark any hint on how to act, what he should do now. What _do_ you even do, after having casual sex with your roommate, who’s also _yourself_ right now, and who you might have been kinda really into for well over a year. Mark sits motionless and lost on Johnny’s bed, hesitant to do anything at all now.

“Hey, can you get the duvet?” Johnny asks.

That’s something Mark can do. He leans forward and reaches for it almost right away, grateful for some direction. But it’s pushed towards a corner of the bed, on the other side of him, and when he tries to cover Johnny with it and get it to lie evenly, it covers the legs that are currently his, as well. He’s really still in Johnny’s bed.

“Come on, either lie down or move towards the headboard, I’m getting cold,” Johnny complains, pulling at the duvet where his own waist is blocking it. Too lost in his own head, Mark follows what Johnny says, letting the tugging on the duvet pull him back, and he lies flat on his back in Johnny’s bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“I can’t believe we had _sex_ ,” he says out loud when the words come up in his head, not allowing himself to mull on it and letting the words disappear back into the turmoil in his mind, because he really needs to talk about this whole thing with Johnny. Needs to know how Johnny thinks about it now, how Mark should be thinking about it.

His own voice sounds almost surprised when Johnny laughs. “You really can’t?”

“Um—” Mark stops, baffled, because there are so many things that could mean. He looks at Johnny, but immediately has to turn away because it’s making him nervous, awkward giggles returning again. “I mean like—because we’re, like. We’re flatmates and everything... Isn’t it weird?”

“It’s only weird if you want it to be.”

Is it really that easy? Mark blinks up at the plaster above him. It’s the same as in his own bedroom, white and gritty and unfortunately not presenting him with any answers. Johnny makes it sound so simple, and Mark envies him. “I don’t want it to be weird,” he says quietly, hesitantly glancing at Johnny.

Johnny grins at him. “Then it isn’t.” He turns to his side, towards Mark, and he’s kind of close now, and even though Mark just said he doesn’t want it to be weird, and he stands by that, he really doesn’t fucking know how to act. This is different from how they’ve ever been before, Mark thinks, as Johnny rearranges the pillow under his head.

“I think I’m gonna fall asleep soon,” Johnny says. “You wanna stay here?”

Mark’s thoughts keep rushing through his head, none of them staying still long enough for him to be able to get a grip on them. Did Johnny really just ask him to sleep in his bed after they’ve had sex? That feels like a big thing, somehow, that feels like something they really aren’t at yet. And Mark groans. _Yet_ , he thought. They probably won’t ever be. Except they kind of are, right now.

But then again, the idea of having to get up and having to go to his own cold bed is not enticing at all. If Johnny is really fine with it, he’d want to stay here. He imagines it could be nice, if he was able to give in to it. How Johnny expects him to be able to think about these things right now, after all they’ve just done, Mark has no fucking clue.  
  
“I’ll take that as a yes?” Johnny shifts closer and throws one of Mark’s arms over his own body. It doesn’t feel heavy at all, it feels kind of nice, even. “Wanna cuddle”

“Oh—um…” Johnny wants to _cuddle_. And in all honesty, Mark doesn’t know why he should say no. “Okay.”

Mark stays still as Johnny pushes their pillows together, and fits Mark’s body against his own. His hand is resting on the area of his tattoo, Mark notices, and suddenly Mark is kind of envious again, because he wants to be doing that too. Feeling Johnny’s heartbeat under his fingertips. Or maybe just his pec.

A puff of air hits Mark’s shoulder when Johnny quietly laughs. “My ears are burning.”

“Oh, yeah,” Mark chuckles, a little abashed. He knows exactly what Johnny’s feeling. “That happens, I don’t know why.”

“Feels nice though. Warm and cosy. I feel good.” Johnny moves around on the bed and nestles closer to Mark, forehead coming to rest on his shoulder, their legs bumping. If Mark doesn't think about what might come, or what has already happened, he actually feels pretty good too right now.

But the thought carousel in his head brings up some memories, and despite his relaxed state, Mark can’t stay quiet. He just really needs to ask. “Hey but—before you sleep, what was that suggestion you didn’t want to tell me earlier?”

“Oh—” Mark’s voice sounds drowsy when Johnny giggles, and Mark feels a little bad for keeping him up. But not _that_ bad. He feels like he has the right to know. “My suggestion was actually to fuck.”

“ _Dude_ —” Mark can’t stop an incredulous laugh shaking Johnny’s chest and his own arm. “You _really_ wanted to have sex with yourself that badly?”

“Come on,” Johnny speaks slowly, a little whiny, “you can’t seriously tell me you haven’t thought about it at all?”

“I seriously haven’t!” Mark can’t stop laughing now, especially with Johnny actually going a bit embarrassed. “Oh my god…” Mark never even considered it, but he can't really say it surprises him that Johnny would have. He starts thinking of what kind of scenarios Johnny would have imagined, and naturally, his brain follows it up with images of two Johnnys going at it. If Mark would get to watch, that’s definitely something he could get into. “Did you like it, though?”

Too late, he realises that could also mean whether Johnny liked having sex with _Mark_. He tries to backtrack, fumbling through nervous chuckles that are really weird in Johnny’s voice, and it’s a good thing Johnny still has his face down on the pillow and they don't need to look at each other right now.

Johnny doesn’t pay his awkward floundering any mind. “I did,” he hums, warm breath fanning over the skin that’s currently Mark’s. “I’d do it again.”

Mark feels like that answer could mean just as many things as his question, and because he isn’t exactly sure what Johnny means, he’s entirely unsure how to reply. All he manages is more weird nervous laughter that Johnny’s throat has probably never produced until this weekend.

Which reminds him, unfortunately, and his mood drops instantly. “But this also didn’t work, though. _Fuck_. And tomorrow’s already Monday, what are we gonna do?”

“Mark…” Johnny mumbles, voice rumbly with vocal fry. “I’m gonna work from home, you only have your online stuff… I’m too tired to think about anything right now, we’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

He says it like they’ve already got the answer waiting for them, which they obviously don’t. They’ve been trying to “figure it out” for two days now, and Mark is really getting desperate. “We can’t just go on like this! We need to do _something_!”

Johnny lazily molds Mark’s body against his own, nuzzling even closer to him without any urgency. “Shouldn’t have fucked me so hard, if you wanted me to be able to think.”

“I—I didn’t do anything!” Mark finds automatically getting defensive. “ _You_ wanted this!”

“It’s a _compliment_ , Mark, you're supposed to take it.” Johnny laughs, leaving Mark spluttering and struggling to work around the warbled mess of conflicting emotions in his head. Johnny stretches languidly, grabbing his own arm to wrap it around himself and nearly dislocating his shoulder as he turns over. Mark has no other choice but to follow him as Johnny reaches for the light switch, and settles down. “There's another day tomorrow. Come on, be the big spoon, I want to sleep.”

“For real? You’re—you're really going to sleep for real right now?” Mark asks, still unable to think clearly. It’s already evening, not a weird time to sleep per se, but he thought maybe Johnny just meant a nap or something. Sleeping like this, the two of them together, after—after what they did… Mark sucks in a breath.

“Well, I _would_ , if you'd stop moving your legs.”

“Oh, right—sorry.” Mark wills his restless feet to stop rubbing together and takes another deep breath, awkwardly fixing the position of Johnny's arm around his own body. He can feel his own chest under Johnny's fingertips now.

His brain is still working overtime, Mark can feel it buzzing through his veins and he tries to force it down, so Johnny won't feel it. Even though Johnny is right and they can get away with at least another few days of not having to face anyone they know, he can’t resign to it like Johnny can, and it's keeping him awake.

And, maybe even more importantly, he just slept with Johnny.

Well, they didn’t sleep yet, or at least Mark didn’t, but. _They had sex_. They fucked, Mark fucked himself with Johnny’s dick while Johnny felt it, they did the do in the weirdest way imaginable. In a way Mark would’ve never imagined, actually. But they did.

They did, and now they’re spooning in Johnny’s bed, and also now Mark knows exactly what it feels like to have his cock buried deep inside his own hole, what it feels like to kiss himself, what he looks like, what he sounds like. And in a way he still doesn’t know what it’s like to be with Johnny. It's kind of mean, really, kind of ironic.

And, Mark reminds himself, it probably wouldn’t have happened if Johnny didn’t want to know what it was like to fuck himself. It didn’t really have anything to do with Mark.

But still, Johnny said he liked the way Mark fucked him. And that he would do it again. So as long as they stay like this, Mark has at least that to look forward to.

Mark wakes up warm and comfortable, and surrounded by sheets that smell like Johnny. When he opens his eyes, he sees splotchy blue water lilies, and a keyboard set up underneath it, and it doesn’t take him by surprise this time, because he remembers what happened last night. He remembers very well, actually, images flowing into his brain all at once and definitely rousing him.

But he has more pressing business to tend to. He doesn’t want to be too hasty and give himself false hopes, but the way he feels right now, the way his limbs rest on the bed, his hands curled up against each other—it all feels awfully familiar.

Even his deep inhale feels better than it has all weekend. And the soft breathing behind him sounds a lot like Johnny’s.

Unwilling to make himself wait any longer, Mark pushes himself up and flips over. And he already knows, he can sense it before he’s fully turned around, but the sight of Johnny, the real Johnny, in all his physical glory, still takes his breath away.

He needs to check to be sure, but these _are_ his own arms, stretching out from himself, his own hand coming down on Johnny’s shoulder, jostling him, his own voice, too loud because he can’t contain his excitement anymore as he wakes Johnny up. “Dude! We're back!”

His cheeks are straining with the way he’s smiling, watching as Johnny blinks his eyes open, first a little bit, and then wide as realisation dawns on his face.

And then, Johnny grabs Mark’s face with both his hands, and kisses him.

For a moment there’s only static in Mark’s head, and his body moves on autopilot, jerking away from Johnny in shock. He splutters, his mouth moving by itself. “Dude, did you just—kiss me? We’re, we don’t need to—we’re already back?” Even though they’ve practically already kissed before, and more than that, Mark is so taken aback, so flustered by actually having kissed Johnny, having Johnny lean over him and press his lips to Mark's, that now he’s kind of panicking a bit.

Johnny pulls back, and drops down onto the bed. “Oh, yeah, okay,” he says, and Mark stares at him, his sleepy eyes, and his pouty lips that Mark just felt against his own (and they were even softer than Mark was able to feel the past two days), and he watches as Johnny’s face turns weirdly blank, but it only lasts for a short moment, and then Johnny nudges Mark’s arm. “You’re right, dude, _fuck_ ,” he says, and he starts grinning again. “I can’t believe we’re actually back!”

Mark can believe it very well, this is definitely real, he’s sure of it, 100 percent. But he shares Johnny’s surprise. “Oh my god!” he says, voice a bit louder than he intended as he slaps Johnny's shoulder excitedly. “I thought—I was worried that we might be like, stuck or something. Thank god…”

But like some kind of déjà-vu, moving around under Johnny’s sheets makes Mark once again become aware of the fact that he’s naked. And then he remembers he fell asleep naked, too, which means Johnny is probably naked now as well. Stupidly, Mark’s heart starts speeding up again. It’s ridiculous how much this is affecting him right now, when he’s got pretty closely acquainted with Johnny’s naked body the past two days. Especially yesterday, jesus, they _fucked_. “So it really actually worked…” Mark mutters.

“What did?”

“Us having... um. You know.” He can't hold back his nervous chuckles again, but when he glances at Johnny, Johnny is smiling back at him and seeing him just makes Mark so goddamn happy. “ _You know_ ,” he tries to continue. “Us—us sleeping together.”

“Ah.” Johnny starts laughing, too. “Yeah. That was a pretty good idea of me, right?”

“Oh my god.” Mark laughs even harder. “Dude, you're right. I hate to say it, but you're right.”

“You hate to say it? Did you dislike it that much?”

“No, I mean—like—it's not that I—”

“Because yesterday it definitely seemed like you liked it.”

Johnny starts smirking at him, and Mark needs to look away, his face burning. “Oh my god, _dude_ —you can't just—”

“But then again, we don’t even know what it was that worked. Like…” Johnny doesn't give Mark a chance to explain himself. But Mark forgives him, distracted as he watches Johnny play with his bottom lip. He’s just so fucking glad he can see him again, the real him. He might very well spend the whole day just staring at Johnny.

“Maybe it was just a two day thing from the beginning,” Johnny continues, shrugging. “Who knows.”

“Yeah, maybe… I guess we’ll never know, man. But at least it's over now.”

Johnny laughs, and fuck, it makes Mark so happy to hear that sound again, like _this_ , and not hearing it weird and off and distorted in a way Johnny’s voice shouldn’t sound. “I have to admit, I’m glad to be back in my own body,” Johnny says. “It wasn’t bad, seeing myself, but I like seeing you, too.”

“Wait, what?” Mark’s throat squeezes around high pitched giggles, still incapable of dealing with Johnny’s weird teasing.

“What? I like looking at you. I like seeing you smile.” Mark thought he had gotten pretty good at figuring out when Johnny is lying to him or telling the truth, but right now he can’t tell at all. “Aren’t you happy that you can look at me, at my body again?”

Mark only feels himself getting more flustered. “Dude, are you like, _flirting_?”

It gets him one of Johnny’s loud laughs, and he shoves Mark’s shoulder. “You wish,” he says, which kind of hurts because Mark does wish that Johnny would. He laughs it off, lying back and staring at the ceiling.

Johnny moves around next to him, leaning over Mark to get his phone from the nightstand, and Mark politely looks down at the sheets, because he doesn’t want to make it obvious to Johnny that he _does_ like looking at his body. But with Johnny so close, Mark is suddenly engulfed with so much of Johnny’s scent, right in his face, and he freezes up, heat spreading in his belly without him being able to do anything about it.

Johnny must've smelled it as well, although he uses pretty different words for it than Mark would have. “Oh, we stink,” he groans, plopping down on the bed. “We should’ve showered.” His brow furrows when smacks his lips a few times, his tongue working in his mouth, and he pulls a face. “You didn’t even brush my teeth! Gross, Mark!”

Mark can only gape at him, taking offence. Surely Johnny can’t be saying this to him right now, when _he_ definitely didn’t brush Mark’s teeth either? “ _You_ didn’t—”

But Johnny snorts, and slaps Mark’s shoulder. “I’m just kidding. But I mean, it is kinda gross, though…” 

“Sorry,” Mark mumbles. He hadn’t really thought about it, but maybe Johnny’s right. His skin actually feels kind of sticky. “I’ll, um. I’ll help you change the sheets?”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Johnny nudges his shoulder again, harder this time. “Go take a shower.”

“Okay,” Mark says, but he doesn’t move yet. He remains still in Johnny’s bed, other things suddenly on his mind after he felt the weird tackiness between his legs. “Should I—do you think I can feel it? Is that possible?”

“That you feel what?”

“That I—that you, your… that, what we did yesterday, with my.” Mark scrunches his eyes shut, squirming as he mutters his last words. “My butthole.”

“Ah.” Johnny laughs, and Mark can’t help giggling along. “Maybe? You might be able to feel it.”

Mark shuffles around a little bit, shifts his legs. And decides to clench, and okay, yeah, he’s pretty sure he can feel it. He can feel the aftermath of Johnny’s dick having been in his own ass. And now he’s suddenly heating up again, sweat gathering in his armpits, having to deal with the ever familiar feeling of his own dick starting to fill up. He shakes his body, trying to get rid of it, at least until he’s left the room. “Okay, wow, uh… Yeah, I’ll go—I’ll go shower now.”

“Hey, but,” Johnny says over breakfast. Mark's spoon with cornflakes stills in his hand, because he knows that casual tone, and he waits for Johnny to continue. “How about, if there’s a next time—”

Some milk splatters over the edge of his bowl when Mark brings his spoon down with force, frowning at Johnny. “I _hope_ not!”

“I said _if_.” Johnny gives him a look. “ _If_ we switch again, can I fuck you? Like, my own body?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if the ending left you feeling somewhat unsatisfied, sometimes it just be like that (but you might have noticed that i made this into a series)
> 
> anyway, thank you everyone who followed this story and supported me throughout it! im really sorry i ended up taking so long, i didn’t expect it to become so long either lmao… i hope you enjoyed it anyway!
> 
> and in true freaky handshake fashion, there’s no real reason why they swap, or why they change back.
> 
> cheers!
> 
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/frxdmr)


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